All My Friends Are Terrifying
by LeePrince
Summary: It's the start of Kyle's junior year in high school. Little in South Park has changed as the years moved on - but this year, Kenny, Cartman, and Stan all seek Kyle's company a little differently than they have before. If he can't get them to lay off, a definite change in the dynamics of their friendships lies ahead. Kyle/Kenny, /Cartman, and /Stan.
1. Ch 1: Some Doodling, Yelling, Running

((Re-uploaded due to formatting issue))

South Park has long since been confounded with strangeness. I highly doubt a single resident, even one, is completely sane. That's myself included. Little things here get blown out of proportion. Big things get blown out of proportion and turn into catastrophic calamities. But I wouldn't even say that's really the strange part.

The weirdness is in the way it settles back down again, every time. The residents don't forget. Most of us here are even pretty traumatized by all we might have gone through. But the town, somehow, still picks up and moves on as if nothing strange ever happened.

And while I've never been able to prove it, I don't think time works the same here as it does in the rest of the world. Sometimes, growing up, there would be long stretches of time where it didn't feel like I was actually growing at all. Especially fourth grade... my mind gets fuzzy when I try to count it, but after lots of effort, I convinced myself it had lasted for many more than a single year.

In fact, I'd say it's remarkable that we managed to make it to high school at all. Here, Status quo is god. I think South Park might be some kind of purgatory.

I'm thinking about this again right now because looking around, I can't spot a single new face in the classroom. Or even a single student sitting in a desk they don't usually sit in. It's the first day of a new school year. I've never thought of South Park as being that small a town. But there's no transfer students. No new families moved here over the summer.

Mr. Garrison is still our homeroom. Stan is on my left. Cartman, then Kenny on my right. We sit in the front, even though we make the most trouble.

Despite all the crazy shit that goes down in this 'quiet little mountain town'... nothing ever changes. We're juniors now... but I have this weird feeling we've been juniors before. So no one is celebrating.

I'm seventeen or so. Who really knows?

"You thinking about weird shit again?" Stan hisses at me, prodding me in the side.

His expression is accusatory. I slap his hand away from me.

"Shut up," I whisper, though I'm not really annoyed.

Stan isn't too keen on my theory. It's not so much that he disagrees. He just doesn't want to think about it.

I can't blame him. I think about it way too much and it's fucking with my head.

"Stop thinking about that shit!" Cartman hisses on the other side of me, spraying spit through the air.

Eavesdropping, as usual for Cartman. I have long since come to terms with the fact I cannot ever be rid of him. Cartman being part of our groups is as unchangeable a reality as everything else in this town.

Neither Stan nor Cartman like thinking about my supernatural theories, but for very different reasons.

Cartman is of the opinion that acknowledging it causes its fade. He holds me personally responsible for freeing us all from the never ending hell of grade school. He's convinced if I 'just stop thinking about it' we'll all be immortal forever, but not having to die like Kenny does.

I can never directly remember Kenny dying, but I believe it.

I can't prove or disprove shit. But I don't why anyone would want to be in high school forever.

Kenny doesn't give a fuck about our brief conversation. He's drawing lewd pictures in his sketchbook while Mr. Garrison rants about something or another.

After class, Cartman punches me in the arm to stop me walking out the door. He towers over me, glaring.

"Seventeen is pretty much the perfect time to stop aging, you fucking dumb-ass! If you don't stop thinking about that shit, before you know it we're all going to be forty-five, in failing marriages, buried in student loan debt, normal debt, and bad backs! And it'll be all your fault Kahl!"

Aging, just this little bit, has done Cartman some major good. He's sprouted upwards like a tree. All that extra height gives his mass a place to go. He's still huge, but at least you can see the shape of his face now.

I glower up at him. You see, I, on the other hand, have hardly grown at all since childhood. Upwards or outwards. 'Midget' has almost replaced 'Jew' in Cartman's insults.

"I thought you loved being tall, Cartman," I said, "Don't you want to be even taller? Another seven feet and you won't even look fat anymore."

He is enraged and I duck out of the classroom before he can steal my hat and hold it above his head again.

Being as short as I am has made bullying a far easier game. I beat the shit out of Cartman more than once back in grade school, but I think if we got in a real fight now, he'd snap me in half.

Stan, my best friend, is tall too, and built like a tank from the football practice he puts in. And Kenny is skinny, but lanky. I feel like I've gotten cheated in the genetic lottery. Stan's dad is pretty short, but my dad is tall. I've got my mother's looks. More than I even like to admit. Very short, with bright red hair in horrid tangled curls. My face looks like a girls'.

Stan has Wendy, on and off. Kenny's got just about every other girl. Even Cartman keeps convincing Heidi to give him another chance from time to time or he manipulates some freshman into being sweet on him, somehow.

If we don't get out of South Park, I doubt I'll ever get laid.

I can't just leave. I've tried. I only end up back here where I started, like the time my family actually moved away and just found ourselves on the bus back home. Of course, that particular incident did save us from a deathly storm of Smug, but it still makes the point.

If I want to leave, I need to make time pass. So it's worth thinking just like this every now and then. Thinking hard about what has changed in my group of friends, in my quiet mountain town.

"Ka-hl!" Cartman shouts, "You're making that dumb face again! Stop thinking about it! I fucking swear, Kahl, if I get one wrinkle on this perfect face, I'm gonna drop kick your midget ass into next week myself!"

The middle of the hallway is a rather public place to blab about our group's little theory – most of the school isn't in it. I don't want people to think I'm crazy. But no one pays attention to Cartman anyway. Every word out of his mouth is tinged with some kind of crazy anyway.

I start to insult him on the basis of his ego, to think he has a 'perfect face', but stop myself. Difficult as it is to remember, there's something I've finally internalized recently. .

Cartman wants me to fight with him. Took a long time to figure that out, but Kenny helped me see the light. Cartman does this exclusively to get a rise out of me. And nothing gets a rise out of him faster than blatantly ignoring him.

So I turn up my nose at him and head into second period.

The day progresses in the same way it always does. Even if we have learned this material before (I think we have), it somehow still feels fresh to the mind. At least we won't go crazy in our purgatory for that reason.

Kenny is flirting with Red again, sending her notes. He's gone through nearly every woman in the school and a handful of guys, too, so he has to start over. I think Kenny would like to get out of South Park, if only to meet someone new. But Kenny feels you can't fight fate.

I wonder how long this year it's going to take Stan to get back together with Wendy. They broke up at the end of last year... whatever year that was... so it's been an unusually long time. They're still friends, pretty close even, but every now and then, the two of them talking gets a little awkward. Stan, usually, says something weird and Wendy gets embarrassed. And then Kenny hears it from Bebe, if he's with her that week, and tells the rest of us.

And then Stan gets pissed with him all week.

"You should join the football team," Stan says to me suddenly, zapping me out of my thoughts and making me jump a little.

I'd gone through classes and up to my locker on autopilot.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow, "Why?"

Stan seems strangely defensive, his expression turning a little bothered.

"Well, I think it would be really good for you. You need to work out more. You're so skinny because you never exercise."

I'm too suspicious to be offended by such blatant taunts.

"Right," I say, "Be that as it may, I don't think football would be a good way to work out. I thought you liked the rest of your team?"

"What?" Stan asks as I shut my locker, "Of course I do."

We're like brothers in arms, is the kind of thing he'd say if he was feeling especially passionate that morning.

"Then why would you want to drag them into the dirt by putting me on your team?" I laugh, elbowing him, "I wouldn't even get through tryouts!"

"I could help you train!" Stan protested, pushing me away, "We're still got half a month until tryouts!"

The idea is so comical I can't stop laughing. It would be some Rocky montage to take me from 100lbs soaking wet to passing tryouts in just two weeks.

Stan gives up on the idea. My best friend is probably the nicest guy I know, but sometimes, he doesn't think things through. I guess I've got the same problem.

"Something funny happen?" Kenny asked, joining us as we enter the cafeteria.

"I'm gonna buy lunch," Stan says as way of answer, splitting off towards the lunch line.

I bring my food now, like Kenny always has, so we go sit down while I tell him about Stan's idea.

"Would be hilarious to see, though," Kenny says, "Kyle Broflovski in a lineup with all the biggest guys in school. Your little chicken legs sticking out from under the equipment."

I push him with my shoulder while we both laugh.

"Hmm..." Kenny hums, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"What's up?" I ask, following his gaze to find a lot of nothing.

"Are you going to do extracurricular this year?" Kenny asks.

"I wasn't planning on it," I said, "I like my studying time."

"Yeah, yeah, we all know you're a nerd," Kenny says, rolling his eyes, "But you can't spend all your time studying. You should try something new. Maybe something that isn't productive?"

I raise an eyebrow, "You clearly have something in mind."

Kenny nods, "Join me in Art Club. It's not like we have a cap on members."

"So I can draw lewd pictures all day, just like you?" I tease.

I know Kenny doesn't actually just draw porn.

"So you can draw whatever you want," He says, "It's not a restrictive club at all. The teacher just lets us do whatever we want. Funding isn't as good as football, but it's not that bad, so we don't have to pay for supplies."

A shadow falls over us, blocking out the sun. I don't need to look up to know Cartman is looming over me.

"A very important matter for you, Kenny, being so poor," Cartman says, "Doubt you'd have paper at all if it wasn't for that dumb club."

Kenny merely shrugs – he isn't bothered by this line of teasing.

Stan arrives just as Cartman is sitting down. They must have been close in line.

"You can come with me after school," Kenny goes on, "It doesn't need an application – or a tryout or anything like that. It's really casual, totally chill."

"What are you guys talking about?" Stan asks.

"Kenny wants Kyle to join his gay Art Club so they can fuck on the sly," Cartman says.

Stan is as experienced as the rest of us at decoding Cartman speak.

"Art Club, huh?" Stan says.

His shoulders are a little slumped and he seems disappointed. I think he's probably feeling down football seems upstaged. I might not like or understand sports, but I know Stan is passionate about team sports.

I can't think of anything to say to cheer him up, so I just smile at him across the table. He shrugs, saying silently he isn't bothered.

"Well?" Kenny asks.

I'd forgotten he'd been waiting for a reply.

"Oh, right," I say, nudging my salad with my fork, "I don't know, Ken, I'm shit at art. I don't think I even remember the color wheel."

"It's not about skill," Kenny says, "It's just fun – and I could show you, too-"

Cartman interrupts him, "Excuse you, Kenny, art is a noble course reliant on skill and passion – something I'm sure our friend Kyle lacks for the subject in both areas."

My eyes narrow involuntarily. It's something about the way he says these things that pisses me off so much. I'd just called myself shit at art, but Cartman saying that is so enraging.

"No, no," Cartman goes on – talking in that self-inflating way he always does, "If Kyle was to join a club this year, the only and most obvious choice would be debate club."

Cartman is the debate club star.

"Debate club?" I exclaim, shocked.

As usual, he ignores my tone completely and acted as if I'd asked for clarification.

"Oh yes," He goes on, "Unlike our school's meager Arts department, our Debate club is well known. A record of attendance there on your college application would go a long way. Much as he pretends otherwise, elite colleges are highly important to Jews like Kyle."

Oh, I'm angry now.

"Fuck off!" I snap, "Like I'd give up even a moment of my precious free time to spend arguing with you!"

There's a round of snickers. Stan and Kenny are traitors. I guess that wasn't a very good point to try to make.

Kenny catches my eye after he stops laughing. Oh, right. I was trying to ignore Cartman instead of getting riled up. God damn it.

"Well," I say, "I think that proves a point anyway – I'm shit at debate."

"No, no," Cartman starts.

"You're shit at everything that isn't school," Stan interjects.

"Um," I say.

That's a little rude.

Stan shakes his head – he didn't mean it like that. I'd never imagine Stan to insult me directly, I was just a little confused at to his point.

"You're not going be good at any of it – you're not good at sports, you're not good at art, you're not good at debate. What would you enjoy?"

All three of them are looking at me. I'm not sure why anyone cares, so it's a little surprising.

"I don't know," I say, "I never said I was going to join a club, anyway."

"Debate club requires an application," Kenny says quietly.

Is this some kind of competition? They're all staring at me so weirdly. I feel really awkward. Do I have to say something?

"I guess... Art Club, then?" I say.

It's not like I'm picking a person. Of course for someone like me, art would be the most fun. But Kenny seems inordinately pleased, Cartman scowls, and Stan looks disappointed again.

I feel like asking Stan if he's all right, but now isn't much of a time for it. It would be awkward. He knows I'd never be interested in football, right? Just gym class is torture.

But god, I wish he didn't look so disappointed.

The afternoon classes pass without incident.

As I was kind of forced to promise, I stick around after final period to tag along to Art Club with Kenny.

"You'll enjoy it, I'm sure of it," Kenny says, "Honestly, Kyle, I think you work way too much. You need an outlet or you'll just be stressed out all the time."

The Art classroom is really, really messy. None of the tables are in rows, there's half-finished projects scattered everywhere, and every available surface is splattered in colorful paint. But there's a little electric fountain and a tiny potted bamboo plant in the corner. A bunch of students already working on something are scattered around the room. Something about it is, in fact, very peaceful. It's quiet in here, but it doesn't feel like speaking would disturb anyone.

"Teacher usually arrives fifteen minutes after," Kenny tell me.

"Cool," I say, having a look around.

Kenny shows me where to get supplies and we sit down at a small table together in a back corner. Kenny sits a little close to me. Too close, I think, his knee is touching mine.

"Like I said, I'm going to teach you how to draw," He says.

His voice is quiet.

"Kay," I say.

For the next ten minutes or so, Kenny instructs me on the basics of drawing human faces. My model: the girl sitting in front of us, working on some kind of modernist clay sculpture.

We snicker at the progress of my unintentionally not-very-flattering depiction of her.

I have a lot of trouble drawing smooth lines. Her eyes are wonky, not symmetrical.

"Here," Says Kenny, taking my hand in his own and fixing a line.

"How long did it take you to get good at art?" I ask.

Kenny huffs, "I'm not good," He says.

"Yeah, right," I reply, huffing myself, "I've seen your drawings. And when they're not completely perverted and disturbing, they're really good. I think it's super cool that you can do this."

Kenny smiles sheepishly, but isn't able to reply before the teacher finally arrives. He's an older man, with long, gray hair tied back. The man handles the club in a very casual way. No attention is paid to me as a newcomer. He briefly demonstrates a new technique (far beyond my current capabilities), then starts around the classroom, talking to each student about the project they're working on and giving advice and feedback.

By the time he gets to us, I've nearly finished my drawing.

"Good to meet you," The teacher says, "I'm Mr. Carter, I head this club."

I shake his outstretched hand. His handshake is very limp, not at all assertive. He smiles though and looks quite friendly.

"Kyle Broflovski," I say.

The man nods, as if he already knew that.

"Kenny's friend," He says, matter of point.

His eyes lift up to Kenny's, fixing him with an odd look. Kenny blushes.

I don't get it.

"May I see?" The teacher asks, pointing at my drawing.

I'm a little embarrassed, but I hand it over.

"Kenny's told me you don't draw. This is a very good for a beginner, Kyle," He says.

"Ah, Kenny was helping me," I say honestly.

So I guess Kenny has been talking about me with his teacher. Kenny's that friendly, open sort of person, so it's not actually very surprising.

"What you need to work on here is simply your technique," Mr. Carter says, "Your lines are very uneven in places and the face isn't symmetrical – nor true to life, I think."

He looks over at the girl I had been drawing, assessing her face with my drawing. I think I'd better make sure she doesn't see that, it would be painful.

"Still," Mr. Carter says, "A very good start. I hope to see you in our club again."

He hands me back my drawing. I nod as I take it. I'm trying to hide it, but secretly I'm glowing from the praise. It feels incredible to be complimented by the teacher.

"Kenny, do you have your most recent drawing?" Mr. Carter asks, moving on.

Kenny scratches the back of his head, "I thought today I'd just spend working with Kyle. I can do mine some other time."

"I'd still like to see your progress, if it's all right with you," The teacher says.

He's so reasonable, I think it would be hard to say no. A kind of paradox.

Kenny shrugs and gets his notebook out of his backpack. He flips to a certain page in it, then hands it to the teacher. But I notice him carefully pointing the notebook away from me, so I can't see it. That only makes me curious, Kenny.

The teacher stares at the notebook for a moment, nodding. Then, for whatever reason, he looks up at me and stares for a moment. I quirk an eyebrow. He looks back at the drawing and nods again.

"Very good, Kenny," Mr. Carter says, "You are one of my best students. You've definitely progressed since your last attempt. The line work is soft and sharp in the right places and your shading gives off the impression of very warm light. The hair especially I can see you've paid careful attention to. Much improvement there.

"As always, good work with the expression."

He's silent for a moment, then nods again, "It's good, but still lacks finesse. I'd say this time you might have gone too far in the other direction – this is too detailed and tight in places. But I'm glad I can finally see – well."

He cuts himself off for some reason.

"It's very true to life," He says, then finally hands Kenny back the notebook.

It's quickly closed and stashed away in his bag again. The teacher wanders off.

"Can I see?" I ask immediately.

I'm dying to know what it looks like. Hearing all that about it without being able to see it is driving me nuts.

"Maybe some other time," Kenny says shyly.

He doesn't want to show me something he's worked hard on. I get that. It's different for just a casual sketch, but he's worried about being judged on something he put effort into.

Still, I hope he does actually show me sometime.

We spend the rest of club time drawing a new picture. I try to draw Kenny, but it's too difficult while he's leaning over and helping me, so I draw the teacher instead.

Art Club is far more pleasant than I imagined it being. I guess I've got something new to do on Monday afternoons.

–

Tuesday passes without incident. The next day, Friday is also normal, but only up until third period, right before lunch time.

The history teacher, Mr. Wright (who is incidentally also the Debate teacher), is handing back graded essays and going over them with the students who didn't do so well. I spend the time working on the homework we just got assigned in second period. Stan and Cartman don't share this class with me, but Kenny is doodling a few desks behind me – we're seated alphabetically in history.

Mr. Wright places my essay on the edge of my desk. I nod to acknowledge him, but don't look up.

"Oh, Broflovski," He says, getting my attention, "I wanted to let you know your rush application was approved. Do you know where the club is held? Though I'm sure Cartman can show you."

"I'm sorry?" I ask.

"Show you where the club is held," Says Mr. Wright.

"...What club?" I ask.

"Well, Debate, of course," He says.

For a short moment, I am confused. Mr. Wright is certainly confused. But then, I get it and start turning an angry red.

"I didn't put in any application, sir," I say, trying my best to keep my tone respectful with the teacher, "I think Cartman must have done that for me."

"Ah, I see," Said Mr. Wright, "Yes, I received the application from your friend, but he told me quite clearly it was for you, so I assumed you were aware of it. Well, all the same, do you need instruction on the place or time?"

I shake my head, "No offense, sir, but I'm not interested in debate. Cartman... must have misunderstood. Just because he's applied for me doesn't mean I'll go."

Mr. Wright's shoulders slump. He looks highly put out.

"I see – well, I suppose I can understand," He says, "Debate is just not popular among young people anymore. Though, I would expect an intellectual like yourself to hold at least some fondness for civilized debate?"

I hold up my hands. I'm a little confused.

"I... don't think of myself as an intellectual, sir," I say.

I mean to go on and say a little more, but Mr. Wright doesn't notice. He leans on the empty desk behind me while he talks, looking wistfully over my shoulder in a way that makes me want to turn around and see what he's staring at.

"Of all the misguided humility," He says, "Broflovski, you are second in grades in all of Junior year – only behind Wendy Testaburger, and not by much. And the two of you are heads and shoulders above the others. Why, just look at your essay, here."

Mr. Wright is making me distinctly uncomfortable. His praise is over the top and awkward. But mostly, the other essays are still waiting to be handed out and the other students are watching me. Anyone else in the class who wanted feedback has to wait for our conversation to finish. And they're listening to him praising my grades. And reading bits of my essay out loud.

I hate it. Oh, god, I hate it.

"S-sir," I say quietly, trying to get his attention.

He didn't hear me, "And here, your tone is incredibly academic, 'Americans in the eighteenth century-'"

"Sir," I say, getting his attention.

I can hear Kenny giggling at my distress.

"That – thank you, but -" I start.

Mr. Wright interrupts me again.

"You sell yourself so short, Broflovski," He says, "Haven't you ever heard? It is just as reckless for a man to severely underestimate his abilities as to overestimate his abilities. You are set on the college path, aren't you?"

Mr. Wright had advised the class to pursue further education after high school last year and I'd expressed my intention to apply to a number of colleges out of state my senior year.

"Which extracurricular are you taking?" He asked.

It wasn't exactly accusatory, but I felt the need to defend myself anyway, like I needed to prove I was serious back them.

"...Art club," I say.

He looked decidedly unimpressed. I only felt more defensive. But I didn't really want to say I didn't want to join the club because Cartman was in it and Cartman wanted me to join. That would make me sound childish and petty.

Why do I care so much? I don't have to prove anything to him.

"Anything that would appeal to potential colleges or employers?" He asked.

'I like art,' would have been my reply. But that sounded stupid.

"Cartman clearly cares a lot about you -" Mr. Wright said.

"Not really," I reply.

I didn't mean to interrupt, it just slipped out. The teacher raised an eyebrow and inclined his head at me. I wish I knew how to keep my mouth shut. The girls sitting nearby were staring.

"Cartman and I aren't close or anything," I say, "We just sit together at lunch."

"Exactly," Mr. Wright said.

That, I didn't understand at all.

"Broflovski, I strongly feel that you would benefit from this club. As your teacher, I'd like to encourage you to at least give debate a try. The first meeting of the year is this afternoon, starting fifteen minutes after school in room 3-F. Can I trust that you'll be there?"

'Encourage'? More like demand. But Mr. Wright was still my history teacher. I couldn't just drop a core subject.

"I..."

Couldn't think of anything to say to get out of it

"That's the spirit, Broflovski," Mr. Wright said, clapping me on the shoulder, "I know I can always rely on hard-working students like you. We'll see you this afternoon."

I didn't agree!

"I -!" I started to protect, but Mr. Wright must have been some kind of ninja – he was already on the other side of the room, lecturing Clyde about his use of personal pronouns in profession essay.

I skulked into the cafeteria in silent fury.

In the end, I'd even been held up after class. Mr. Wright was pretty intent I don't skip it.

"Cartman," I say, breathing fire.

He pretends not to notice.

"Good afternoon, Kahl, so good to see you. We were all worried you'd been held up."

Acting as if everything is hunky-dory and chummy between us pisses me off faster than almost anything else he does, so I can't help getting more riled up.

"You sicked your weirdo teacher on me," I say directly, placing my hands on the table in front of him and leaning down to give him my most evil look.

Cartman smiles, ignoring my posture and expression.

"Whatever do you mean, Kahl?" He asks.

"Something happen?" Stan asks me.

"Cartman signed me up for Debate Club and his psycho teacher wouldn't let me out of it." I say, but I don't stop glaring at Cartman.

"Now, Kahl, you take that back," Cartman says – but he clearly is still joking, not actually bothered, "Mr. Wright is an amazing professor. Far more than we should expect in this tiny mountain town."

"You said something to him," I say, "Why the hell does he want me to join so badly? Are you blackmailing him?"

Next to us, I can hear Kenny giving Stan the rundown of what he witnessed in history.

"The very opposite," Cartman say, grinning.

"So – he's blackmailing you?" I ask, "What the fuck do you mean."

"No, no," Cartman says, "I mean the intentions – I am, after all, Mr. Wright's star pupil. He wants me to shine as bright as I can."

"So you mean you've got another professor wrapped around your finger," I say.

I lift my hands and sit down. I'm done interrogating him. My stomach is growling because I'm late to lunch.

"I'd be happy to show -" Cartman starts.

"I can find the room myself," I snap back at him.

He lifts his hands up, as if in surrender and leans back. But not only is he smiling, I know for a fact Cartman never gives up on anything he decides to start.

After school, I don't have a moment to spend feeling bad for myself. Cartman is in Physics class with me and I don't want him showing me to the club room. I don't need some well thought reason why: I don't want Cartman to ever think he's helped me with anything.

I pack quickly and hurry off, but after a minute, I can feel his presence behind me. His legs are so much longer than mine.

"You're so excited!" He laughs when it's clear I've noticed him, "Like a little chihuahua!"

I bite my tongue to keep myself from snapping at him. I'm ignoring him now, I need to remember that. We're almost at the club room anyway. There's a bunch of students gathered around a door.

I can hear him huff behind me. He hates being ignored.

I can pick out a couple of faces from my circle of friends in the crowd. Wendy and Token are both here. The three of us have the best grades in our year. I don't recognize most of the other students intimately, but I know some of them from indirect sources. These students are all nerds and elites. Either with fantastic grades or simply wealthy – or both, like Token.

I'm closer with Wendy, since she's together with Stan so often. I even think of her like a sister, sometimes. Her own best friend, Bebe, is no where to be seen. Bebe is the opposite of Wendy in a lot of ways. I can't see someone like her in this group.

If Wendy is alone, maybe I use her to shake Cartman. As we approach everyone, Cartman tries to put his arm over my shoulder, but I push him off.

At least for now, that's sent him off without too much trouble. I hear his voice greeting a few upperclassmen. It's easy to tune out when I have someone to talk to myself.

"Kyle!" Wendy exclaims when she sees me, giving me a half hug and a warm smile, "I didn't know you were joining debate this year."

"I'm not," I say, "I've been tricked into attending the first meeting, though."

She rolls her eyes at me, "Debate is really fun, Kyle. I think you'll have a good time."

I'm not so sure, but I don't voice that. We spend the next fifteen minutes catching up before the teacher arrives.

There aren't that many students in debate club and the atmosphere is very quiet. Inside the room, all the desks have been set on one side of the room or the other, facing inwards to an open space.

Everyone quickly finds a seat. I stick by Wendy. We sit a few chairs away from everyone else and right up against the wall. It's tight around the edges of the room, even a little claustrophobic, because the desks aren't usually laid out like this. Only one student – an upperclassman, I think – sits in a desk right next to us.

Mr. Wright gets into business mode quickly. After a brief introduction speech, he tells us what the club will be doing for that meeting and most meetings from here on out. We're all going to split into pairs to practice debate for thirty minutes. Debate topics will be passed around in a hat, given to us by Mr. Wright, or just decided by ourselves. At the end, a timer will go off and we'll have to decide a winner by ourselves. Mr. Wright will float around the room observing and giving advice, but won't be able to pay enough attention to any particular debate to pick a winner.

For most meetings, a pair of students will volunteer to participate in a debate in front of the class for everyone to watch and then vote on.

At the end, Mr. Wright will give a very brief lesson or tip and tell us what we'll be doing next week and if we should prepare any material.

The whole thing sounds like a lot of work, a lot of embarrassment, and not any fun.

Why would anyone enjoy a terrible club like this?

I learn quickly.

Mr. Wright reminds us that betting on the outcome of a debate is discouraged. If he needs to say that, people are obviously doing it.

When it's time to split into pairs, I look to Wendy immediately. She smiles and opens her mouth to speak. But a dark shadow falls over us, making her look up in annoyance.

Wendy doesn't like Cartman any more than I do.

"I'll be your partner in group debates, Cartman, but I've had plenty enough of your pathetic whining last year," She says.

"Why so cruel, Windy?" Cartman asks, "You wound me, you really do. But I'm not here to work with you this time. Kahl, won't you be my partner? Since we're such good friends."

"Like hell -" I start to say.

Don't fall to his level.

"I'm partnering with Wendy, actually," I say, "You'll have to find someone else."

"Wendy," A fourth voice enters our conversation.

It's the upperclassman who was sitting next to us.

"I was hoping to ask you to work with me," He says, "I wanted to challenge you again after you beat me in the public debate last year."

Wendy is no traitor. She just gives the kid a look.

"I wanted to know if I've gotten any better. Or at least if you have gotten any worse."

Something flashes in Wendy's eyes. I think there might be a history here I'm not seeing. And this student sat next to us very specifically. Couldn't he have sat anywhere else? With his friends? The pieces click together in my mind. I'm pretty sure this was one of the upperclassmen Cartman was talking with.

"Cartman, you asshole," I hiss at him.

He looks impressed. Not really impressed, more like... this dog remembered which cup I hid a treat under, how intelligent.

I want to scratch his stupid smirks off with my fingernails.

It turns out Wendy is a traitor. By the time this has gone down, though, the rest of the class has split into pairs.

I am left with the sole choice of Cartman.

He is already turning a desk around so the fronts face each other.

A hat full of pieces of paper is passed around the room. I snatch it before Cartman can get his greedy mitts on it and put something weird in there, even though I have to stand a little and lean over my desk to outreach him.

"Chill out, Kahl," Cartman says, "You're suspicious of everything."

"I don't know what you're planning, Cartman. I can admit that. Why you want me here, I have no fucking idea. I just want to get this over with the least amount of pain possible."

"Not a masochist then?" He asks, "Well, we can't have everything, can we."

"College education," I read out loud from the topic I picked at random, "Is a college education worth it?"

"Boring!" Cartman cries out, loudly enough to disturb the other students and make me jump.

"What a dumb topic," He says, "Especially something we both have the same opinion on – I don't know about you, Kahl, but I like debating about actual, real life arguments."

"What do you have in mind, Cartman?" I ask with a sigh, putting my hand over my eyes, "I'm sure you have something insulting planned. About Jews or height or red hair."

"Too easy," Cartman says, "There's no benefit to being Jewish, tiny, or ginger."

I crumple the paper in my hand and open my mouth to tell him he's full of himself, but Cartman suddenly leans forward over the desk, right into my personal space. I back up instinctively to avoid letting him bump into me and the back of my head touches the wall. He doesn't stop leaning forward, so I'm caught there leaning back.

"What's your idea?" He asks.

I can't think right now. No words come out of my mouth. This is, for certain, according to Cartman's intentions. He smirks at me and leans back again.

"Well, if you can't think of anything, we have to go with my idea, don't we?" He says, "You know, Mr. Wright will actually praise you a lot for going with your own topics."

I'd rather not be praised by that man again in my life.

"Art Club," He says, waving his open palm at me, "Or Debate Club."

He indicates himself. He looks so goddamn cocky.

It's a lot tamer than I thought.

"No good?" He asks, "Maybe... should underweight midgets try out for football?"

My ears turn red.

We spend the next half hour arguing over the merits of either club. Cartman, as expected, is very good at this. I never hoped to win against him. That would be absurd. I just want to keep my temper in check so I don't make a fool of myself.

The way he makes points is frustrating – I don't like to lose, like anyone – but it's not the worst part. Cartman is very actively trying to push my buttons. It's his body language more than anything. He sits normally, then suddenly looms over me, getting too close over and over again when I'm in the middle of trying to say something. I started to make a good point about the value of expression when he suddenly touched my knees with his shoe and made me jump. The point got lost.

Art is just a fun waste of time. Debate Club can only be useful to your future! He insulted art club directly. Unwashed hippies, but Debate Club is full of your peers!

"But people in Art Club are actually nice!" I snap.

"You like Art Club because it's nice," Cartman simpered, "Because people are nice to you. I know Mr. Carter. I bet he showered you with praise just for showing up."

I could feel my face heating up in anger.

"What students need is to actually be challenged. Debate clubs like this one are bettering people, not just in one very specific talent, but intellectually. Kyle, don't you think you could benefit from intellectual study? Why, I think debate club could function as real training in anger management, too!"

So much for not turning into a tomato. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.

"Human pleasure is important, too! We don't live our lives just to be rich but unhappy! Kenny is much better company than you!"

Mr. Wright, who had arrived to observe for a few minutes, felt the need to comment.

"Ad hominem, Broflovski, but that started as a very good point."

As if Cartman insulting my intelligence and temper wasn't ad hominem.

"Well..." Said Cartman, who actually appeared for once briefly taken aback, "Not in this case, I don't think."

"No?" Said Mr. Wright, looking intrigued.

"It's relevant to our topic," Cartman said.

"What would that be?" Mr. Wright asked.

"If Kahl – uh, Kyle - should join art club or debate club." Cartman said.

I managed to loosen my fists. My hands were really starting to hurt. Meanwhile, Mr. Wright was positively beaming at Cartman. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

"So I see! " Mr. Wright said, "Cartman, can you argue any reason why you are, in fact, better company than Broflovski's peers in Art Club?"

"I highly doubt that!" I couldn't help bursting out.

Mr. Wright, apparently satisfied with having given that advice, stood to move on to another pair. I felt that he should have been giving me advice, not Cartman, since I was new at this and Cartman was a seasoned pro.

"You know, I do wonder why you would say something like that. Is Kenny really better company than me?" Cartman asked.

"Obviously," I spat, still quaking.

Cartman smiled, again looking so annoyingly fond of me, "You can't just say 'obviously' Kahl, this is debate."

"Everyone hates you, Cartman," I say, "And it's the same for me."

Cartman seemed to turn this over in his head.

"But why do you hate me, Kahl? Simply saying 'everyone does' is no different than saying 'obviously'. That's Appeal To The Masses. In proper debate, that's poor form."

"You're lack of argument is poor form, too," I say, "Shooting down points is no good if you can't make them yourself. 'Burden of proof,' right? And I'm happy to go over the details of why I hate- "

"Kenny is poor. When we go to college, he'll have nothing in common with us anymore," Cartman said, leaning over me again, "He's perverted – and an absolute man-whore. His reputation can only drag you down. He's an idiot, just like Stan. I know you tutor both of them – Debate, at least, would be a far better use of your time than enabling their mediocrity. I think you might be what's wrong with your friends, Kenny especially. "

I was ready for his personal space attack and didn't back away this time, but his words pissed me anyway. His huge shadow cast me into darkness. I stared right into his eyes, which seemed to be gleaming.

"Who cares, who care, and who cares," I said, "None of that bothers me about Kenny because none of that affects how nice it is to spend time around him. Maybe stop going on about what makes Kenny bad and tell me what makes you good?"

Cartman smiled silently for a moment, as if building for effect.

"I'm perfect," He said with gleaming eyes.

That was the last straw.

"Fuck you!" I cried out.

A bell announced the end of the thirty minutes. Cartman leaned back in his chair, smirking.

My whole body shook in rage and I have to close my eyes.

Mr. Wright clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.

"It sounds like you all had very interesting debates. Now, we'll go through the pairs and announce today's winners."

Wendy had won her argument. I expected that – it was a sham from the start.

"Cartman, Broflovski?"

There's no shame in losing to the Debate Club star, but I feel petulant anyway.

"Cartman won, of-," I start to spit out.

But Cartman interrupts me before I can say 'of course'.

"Kyle won, sir."

The room turns to look at us. Cartman's reputation precedes him, I think.

"Really?" Says Mr. Wright, looking both surprised and pleased – his eyes are on me and I hate them.

"Yes, sir. It was at the end that Kyle made some very good points," Cartman went on.

Of course, his tone is teasing, so I'm seeing red again.

"But you think you lost, Broflovski?" Mr. Wright said.

That asshole gets to be doubly pleased here.

I open my mouth, but Cartman talks over me again.

"You lost your temper," He says, right in front of everyone, "But that doesn't really matter in debate. What matters is making effective points. And I can't blame you for losing your temper on a subject you're so passionate on."

"Cartman," I start to say, but stop myself.

Everyone in the club is watching me. Now is not the time to lose my temper again.

"I've never known you to admit to losing so easily like that," Another student says to Cartman, "Usually, we have to have another mini debate over it."

"What were you guys debating?" A girl asks.

"If Kyle likes me or -" Cartman starts.

"Art Club or Debate Club," I interrupt him.

The class is silent. I think at this point they can all see the pent up rage emanating out of me.

"Who was who?" Another girl asks.

Cartman ignores her and looks at me.

"And to think," Cartman says, "You thought you wouldn't enjoy debate club."

I nod. Stand up. Grab my bag. And I walk across the room and out the door.

"Broflovski!" Calls Mr. Wright.

"I'll get him, sir," Says another student.

I can hear footsteps after me as I hurry down the hall.

"Fuck off," I say, not bothering to see who it is.

It turns out to be Token. Even when I'm moving at my top speed, all it takes is a pair of normal sized legs to catch up to me. And Token, like everyone else it seems I'm friends with, is stupid tall. He grabs my arm. I hate it when people manhandle me. I can't actually make someone let go like the other guys can.

"Listen," He says, "Everyone knows that Cartman is an ass. He's made three girls cry so far and Turner actually threw a book at him once. No one is going to think any less of you for storming out like that."

I'm still shaking. Token can certainly feel that through my arm.

"Right," I say, though my voice is a little strained.

I'd look even worse if I actually disappeared like that. Or would it be worse to come back, tail between my legs?

"Come one, man. You gotta find out if I won mine." Token flashes me a charming smile.

Well, I guess. The club looks at us when we slink back inside, but Mr. Wright has moved on to the other students.

Right now, I'm just exhausted. Getting this angry has taken it out of me. I'm not even going to be able to study tonight.

"You'll come again, won't you?" A pretty sophomore girl asks me as everyone gets ready to leave.

I shake my head.

"When we finally have an even number of members?" A boy whines, "It's so annoying when you always have to worry about being that leftover person."

"Mr. Wright thinks you can fix Cartman," Another girl says quietly.

I don't know what that means.

"I don't want to argue with Cartman," I say.

"You can partner with me next time," Token says.

I'm too tired to argue. It would look good on college applications. My Mom is going to start getting on my ass about that soon enough. She already bugs me about going up just a few points to be better than Wendy.

"Sure," I say.

So, art on Monday, debate on Wednesday. If Stan wants to do something with me tomorrow, he's going to have to drag me.

–

"Fuck off," I whine, dragging out the words.

It is so cold in the morning without the blankets on. I stayed up late last night studying – I don't care what Stan is about, I'm not getting up this early. I sneeze.

"Just wake up, man," Stan says, shaking my shoulders.

I am awake, dumb-ass. I just don't want to engage right now. But all the same, I sit up in bed and give him the stink eye. He laughs at me, which makes it hard to stay so annoyed. Bed sheets in his other hand, he ruffles my hair. When Stan does that, it's kind of nice, so I just roll my eyes and smile.

"Why am I awake at six AM on a Saturday?" I ask him.

"So we can go running!" Stan exclaims excitedly, "I just thought of it!"

Recreational running? No way. Not for anyone, not even you Stan.

"What made you think of that?" I ask as I stand up to get dressed – it's too cold in my pajamas without any blankets over me.

"Well, I got up to go running this morning," He says.

Hmm, normal for Stan. I pull a warmer shirt over my head.

"And then I thought – Kyle should come with me!" Stan finishes.

"I don't follow," I tell him.

"You need to exercise," Stan says, following me around the room while I find something to wear, "And I know... something like football is not going work. That was stupid. Even if you were in shape, you hate that kind of thing.

"So maybe we could exercise just the two of us. It'd be more fun anyway."

My hat is missing. What did I do with it last night?

"I can't see exercise as being fun," I tell him, "Did you hide my hat?"

"What?" Stan asks, "No. Not this time."

He's done this before. I don't like people to see my hair, apart from Stan, so if he wants something, ransoming my hat is a good way to get it. He's done that kind of thing before.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"I didn't!" He protests.

Well, lying about it wouldn't do much good for ransoming. He helps me look. I find it between the mattress and the wall – I forgot to take it off last night and must have lost it down there in my sleep. It's a little squished, but my hat has gone through a lot. It'll bounce back.

I whine and complain a bunch, but now that I'm awake and dressed, I am willing to go exercise with Stan. Not because I like exercise, but because I like Stan. Even if he is an idiot.

Mom and Dad aren't awake yet and I doubt they'll be before I get back, but Ike is sneaking a bowl of sugary cereal in the kitchen.

"Morning, Ike," I call while I put on a pair of running shoes – almost went and grabbed my boots out of habit.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

"We're going running!" Stan exclaims cheerfully.

Ike smirks at us.

"Good luck with that," He says, "I predict my little brother making it halfway to the pond and giving up."

My nose wrinkles in annoyance. I hate it when he tries to call me 'little brother', just because he's taller than me now. Ike is just beginning middle school. Somehow, he's grown taller than I am already. After all, he isn't related to me by blood, so I can't say we really look alike. But Ike is oddly skinny like I am. I think he has my eating habits – with the exception of a deep love of the sugary cereal our Mom tries to ration to us as rewards.

I stick my tongue out at him and leave the house.

I know Stan runs down to the pond every Saturday. If I'm up early enough, I can even see him run past my window. Honestly, I think it might be a pretty far run. If Ike gets proven right, I'll never hear the end of it.

"We're going to jog," Stan says, "Really, really slow pace, I promise."

Sure. But I nod at him and together, we start off.

I'm not completely out of shape. After all, I still attend phys ed like everyone else. I'm just miserable in it. Stan keeps glancing over at me as we run. I know I'm already breathing hard and the flaps on my hat are bouncing. Stan's legs are longer than mine. I know he isn't running as fast as he likes to because of that.

As we pass one block at a time, the mild discomfort turns into a deep burning feeling in my lungs. My thighs are starting to feel tight, but Christ, it's nothing compared to how my lungs are feeling. I'm no longer paying attention to Stan or our pace. I'm just trying to keep running.

It can't be much longer than a mile to Stark's Pond, can it? I can run a mile. Barely.

I need to catch my breath, at least for a moment. I slow to a stop and lean down over my knees. Now that I'm not moving, my legs are shaking.

"Go on," I say to Stan, who's hovering over me.

My voice is very rough. It feels like I've got a lot of phlegm in my throat.

"It's fine," Says Stan.

He doesn't sound like he's dying.

While I wait for my legs to stop shaking, Stan stretches.

"How long -" I start to say, but I cough a little bit.

"About halfway," Stan replies.

I wave him off.

"Until I can run without dying," I say.

"Oh," Says Stan.

He stares down at me, looking up at him, where I'm catching my breath with my hands on my knees. But after another moment, I'm able to stand properly now and rise up. I'm not sure it really makes a difference. Stan is so much taller than me whether I'm at my full height is kind of negligible.

"Two months," He replies, punctuating his statement with a sharp nod.

"Fuck off," I say, "I'm going home."

"Kyle!" Stan cries out, "You can't just give up like that."

"This was fun, Stan," I reply, turning away from him towards the way we came, "I'm glad I know how you spend your Saturday mornings now. Thank you. I'm going home."

"Kyle!" Stan says again.

Ha, good luck stopping me with admonishments like that. I give him a quick wave and start heading back. I really was expecting him to roll his eyes and get back to running. But instead, he's walking beside me with one of his hands on my shoulder.

"If you're really as out of shape as this, it's even more important for you to exercise," He says.

"Right you are," I reply, "Still going home."

He purses his lips in a thin line.

"You're being a little bitch, I think," He says.

I shrug. He stops for a moment, watching me walk away, but then he's by side again.

"Don't you care about your GPA, like, a lot, Kyle?" He asks.

I raise an eyebrow at him. What's that got to do with anything.

"You're only a few points behind Wendy, aren't you?" He says, "Are you gonna those points just studying more? There's a law of diminishing returns with that stuff."

"What are you on about?" I ask him.

"Just with running once a week, I bet your grade in phys ed would go way up. That's your worst class and it would count for a ton."

It's a reasonable argument.

"Wendy's only ahead of you because she doesn't have a bad class like that driving down her average."

That's actually pretty convincing. I pretend not to be bothered, but something is really attractive to me about possibly being the best student in our year. That's a lot of prestige.

But that's also a lot of running.

"Guess Ike was right," Stan say, crossing his arms.

Ugh. Fine.

At least I didn't make it very far towards home. Stan and I set off running again. I go through the same process of feeling kind of good, then out of breath, then really out of breath, then burning. When we finally reach the pond, I collapse onto the bench and go limp.

"See?" Stan says, "Not so bad."

He's a little out of breath too, finally, but not nearly in the same state that I am. He sits next to me.

"And you run back, too?" I ask when I'm able to speak.

"Yeah," Stan says, "But I always rest here first."

I nod. We're silent for a little bit, catching our breath.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Stan says.

I turn to see where he's staring and follow his gaze out over the water. The sun rose a while ago, but there's still some pink and orange left in the sky near the horizon. The warm colors bounce into the water a little bit.

I don't think about this kind of stuff very often, but I guess it is pretty. I nod.

We sit for a quite a while. Longer than we should need to catch our breath. But since I'm drenched in sweat, it starts to get really cold on the bench.

When I stand up, everything hurts. The soreness has started to set in.

I whine.

"It hurts!" I say, trying to stretch tight muscles.

"Well, yeah," Says Stan, "We probably should have stretched first. I forgot to make you do that."

"I'm not running back," I tell him.

"I figured," He says, "I think what we did was about on your level. I'll walk back with you."

I yawn.

"It's fine," I say, "You always run back, don't you? I won't make you walk me home."

Stan shrugs. He'll do what he wants and I'm fine with that.

It's very cold out, now that we're not running. Brr! I shiver and sneeze.

We walk in silence. Stan keeps looking at me and starts to fidget, making temples with his fingers. He's got something on his mind, starts to shrug out of his jacket. I roll my eyes and open my mouth to ask what's up.

He roughly places his jacket over my shoulders, shoving me slightly.

"Here," He says.

"What?" I ask, "Na, I'm fine."

"You're clearly cold," He says.

Something about his tone seems really defensive.

I raise an eyebrow at him and grab the jacket off my shoulders to hand him back.

"But then you'll just be doubly -" I say.

"I'm going to run," He interrupts, "Carry that back for me."

He takes off, leaving me in the dust. I'm way to tired to try to follow him. Fine, I'll carry your jacket. In my hands, it's pretty warm from his heat. I guess Stan wasn't so cold after all. He's bigger, so he probably just makes a lot more body heat.

But I'm freezing and if I'm going to be carrying it, I might as well wear it.

His jacket is much too big for me and comes down over my hands and hips. But it's really warm. I hug my arms around myself while I walk. Ugh, he was kind of sweaty though. Stan's jacket smells decidedly of Stan. But it's cold, so I bury my nose in the collar.

There are people who could smell worse than Stan.

When I get home, Ike's watching TV and asks if I ran the whole way.

"All the way to the pond," I tell him, "But I walked back."

He looks over at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Boyfriend lend you his jacket?" He teases.

I stick out my tongue at him and head into my room. That afternoon, Stan comes over to work on homework and takes his jacket when he goes home.

"Oh, thanks," I call when you leaves the room.

Stan is red in the face suddenly, but I don't know why.

I'm going to be busy this year, I think. Art Club Monday, Debate Wednesday, exercise Saturday.

But I'm going to kick Wendy's ass in GPA.


	2. Ch 2: Ignore What You Can't Understand

((AN: In response to a Guest Review (due to its nature, I cannot respond privately), I'd like to apologize for the out-of-character writing in this story and general poor writing. I've been basing my impressions of these characters far more on other fanfictions I've read than on the show itself. For this story, it's too late to correct these cliches and predictable, lazy elements. I've already established the characters as they are in this fiction. On my next story, I'll be sure to pay greater attention to more accurate characterization. If you chose to continue reading despite these issues, thank you very much. I would greatly appreciate critical feedback if you do have the time, since I use fanfiction to try to improve my writing. Honest critical feedback just like that is very valuable to me. Thank you.))

I'm not sure why it feels so much better to have a creative skill praised than a critical one. It's not as if I'm making some great artistic impression of my soul. I had been spending the week here and there making little sketches of the people around me in hopes of showing improvement by the time I had Art Club again.

When I drew in some spare time after lunch, Cartman said I was turning into Kenny, but shittier, and Stan fidgets like crazy if I try to draw his face. But Kenny himself was positively beaming and always leaning over to give me tips. I guess it feels really good to share your interests with someone. I wonder if it would be that way if any of my friends were as into academics as I am. I've always felt a camaraderie with Wendy because we both take tests so seriously, but there's some elements of rivalry there too.

Come Monday, I'm really looking forward to Art Club, almost to the point of being nervous.

Kenny sauntered over to me at the end of sixth period, having already packed up his bag. I don't think he was taking notes properly. I packed quickly, because I didn't want to keep him waiting.

"You'd better show me your drawings this time," I teased, "You've been seeing mine all week."

"Sure, man!" Kenny replied.

Really, then? He sounded cheerful and that made me feel really cheerful.

We arrived in the quiet, peaceful classroom and sat in the same spot as last time. And just like last time, Kenny sat really close to me in that quiet, intimate space. I showed him the drawings I'd been doing of people he might not have seen yet.

"You drew me too," He said, smiling.

"Pretty much everyone in class," I said, laughing.

I'd really been drawing a lot.

"Aw," Kenny pretended to whine, "Now I don't feel special."

We drew together while we waited for the teacher, as we'd done before. My drawings turn out worlds better when Kenny helps. We drew sculpture girl again to see if I might have improved.

The sculpting girl had finished whatever she'd been working on last time. When class started, the teacher had her stand in front of the club and show it to everyone. I didn't really 'get it,' but it looked cool, and Mr. Carter heaped praise and advice on her in front of everyone until her smile seemed to split all the way across her face.

He looked through my sketchbook and praised me too.

"I'm very impressed, Kyle. This shows rapid growth. If you keep at it, I'm sure you could be a great artist someday. Right now, I think you'd benefit from learning perspective. And of course, honing your technique. That will come naturally in time. Very good."

I was positively glowing.

"Here's what I've been working on this week, sir," Said Kenny, presenting a certain page in his notebook. He didn't hide it, but I couldn't quite see what he'd been drawing.

"A different model this time," Said Mr. Carter, "It's been a while. I think it's very good you're remembering to step outside your comfort zone from time to time. It's definitely good. Your shading has once again improved. But, I feel it's not quite to the caliber of your other most recent works. Nothing is wrong in the technique... it seems a little rushed, is all. When did you start this one?"

Kenny seemed a little embarrassed. He crossed his legs under the table, bumping my knee.

"Well, that one was just today," Kenny admitted.

Since I'm new at this, it only takes less than an hour for a sketch. I understand it isn't the same for Kenny, though. I spotted the sketch – it was Red.

Mr. Carter agreed, "Don't you usually spent two or three days on a page? Did you make any others this week?"

"...A landscape," Said Kenny.

He presented a particular page.

"Good detail," Mr. Carter said, "Your sense of scale and realism are especially on point in this image. I'd even say the garbage, here, in the corner gives it a particular expression. But I would still say you did not put as much effort in as you do your usual works. This also took you a day, did it not?"

Kenny nodded. I felt a little like an interloper. It must be difficult to be admonished by a man like Mr. Carter.

"Is there a third one you did this week? One that took the normal three days?"

I would hate to be questioned by this man. There's something about the look in his eyes that would make him impossible to lie to.

Kenny nodded sheepishly and flipped back one more page.

"There," Said Mr. Carter, who now smiled, "You worked hard on this one. And it's a true to life image you drew from your head – the background makes the setting instantly recognizable and I know you weren't drawing that day. This one is particular is very good, Kenny. The pose is more alive than I've seen you work with. Very true to life. Your skill is growing, but it only shows when you put in the time. All in all, I am very impressed, Kenny."

Kenny nodded and Mr. Carter moved on.

"Let me see!" I hissed at Kenny.

"Sure, of course," Said Kenny, smiling.

He flipped to the first drawing he'd shown Mr. Carter.

Though I'd never really thought about it before, Red was really good looking. And even in black and white, she still looked distinct and alive. She showed a sideways smile to the viewer with a seductive expression. It was very Kenny to have drawn that.

"May I?" I asked, indicating the notebook.

"Sure," Said Kenny.

He seemed a little unsure. Probably embarrassed again. But he said it was okay, so I was definitely looking!

The landscape was near Stark's Pond. I'd actually walked right past that spot with Stan when he made he go running. In fact, I'd seen those bottles! ...Maybe I should have picked them up. I've been lazy lately.

I started to lift the next page and Kenny suddenly looked sharply away.

"Is it okay?" I asked, just to make sure.

I shouldn't really pressure him.

"Yeah," He said, "Feel free, none of them are weird."

That was an odd thing to say. I raised an eyebrow, but lifted the next page.

It was me. Right here where we sitting. I was staring down at a half-finished drawing of sculpture girl and smiling. The pose, I guess, was good. Kenny's art was good. It looked like my hand was moving. Like you were there and witnessing me draw. But it was strange. My smile seemed so serene, it didn't seem real. I could see a hazy reflection of a silhouette in my eye.

"Oh," I said.

Kenny fidgeted and leaned back casually, like he was trying too hard to be cool.

"It's really good," I said.

I didn't really know what else to say. This wasn't 'true to life' like Mr. Carter said it was. The person was recognizable as me... but this drawing was so handsome. And the pose was so smooth.

I flipped to another page.

This one was also me. In class. Staring at the viewer and smiling, almost laughing.

I flipped the page. It was inside of Kenny's room. Another one. It was Kenny's little sister, smiling with her gap tooth.

It was me. It was someone's hand, maybe Kenny's. It was me. It was me. It was Mr. Carter. Kenny's sister. Me. Stan. Me. Kenny's sister. Kenny's mom. Me, but Stan too. Cartman. Me. Me. Me. Some puddles in front of the school. A bit more of me and this and that, and him and her, and me.

I looked up at Kenny over the top of the notebook, hiding my face a little. He simply looked back at me. What... on earth? This was very awkward.

I mean, they weren't all of me. But... that was a lot. All kinds of poses. All kinds of expressions. Me glowering at the viewer. Eating an apple. Pointing at something with Stan. Smiling, mostly.

Well, cut to the chase.

"That's a lot of me," I said.

Kenny shrugged.

"You're hot, dude," Replied Kenny, "So it's fun to draw you."

"What?" I asked, too loud.

Sculpture girl turned from her new project to look at us. I ducked my head involuntarily.

"You're hot," Kenny repeated, a bit slower, as if I just hadn't heard, "It fun to draw attractive people. That's all."

Don't say weird things like that! My face turned red and I looked away.

"I mean..." I had another look at Kenny's most recent work.

I can't help but feel it's so awkward looking.

"I'm not, though," I said, holding it up to him, "You just draw me like that."

"It is true to life," He said, "See, look at this one."

He took the notebook and found a page of me with a huge pimple. I remembered that pimple. It was so annoying, I couldn't stop picking at it and made it bleed. But I'm not sure that fact that he drew me when I had a pimple proves anything.

I wasn't sure what I was feeling. It was awkward and confusing. I certainly didn't feel flattered or anything like that. It was weird. I think he was telling the truth.

But it's no big deal if Kenny finds me attractive. Kenny finds everyone attractive! And I mean, he drew his little sister a lot too. So it's obviously not like he's into me or anything like that. I drew him earlier in the week. Loads of people!

"Okay," I said, "Yeah, cool."

Kenny nodded. He seemed... relieved?

I returned to my sketching. I had been redrawing sculpture girl. I wanted to see if I really had improved. But it felt like I'd lost my place, as if I was reading a book, and I didn't feel like I could get back into it.

"I'm going to draw you," I suddenly decided.

"Ditto," Said Kenny.

And indeed, he was already facing me with his sketchbook and pencil.

It was awkward. I kept fidgeting even though Kenny stayed mostly still while he drew.

"Can I...?" He asked and I found him reaching towards my face with his hand.

I stayed still and he turned my face towards him. It was really warm in the club room.

"Just for a moment," He said.

"Kay," I replied.

There wasn't really anywhere to look but him. His pencil scratching on the paper made a soft, pleasant sound, but I had trouble relaxing. I fidgeted again.

"Almost done," Said Kenny.

"Sorry," I replied.

"Don't worry about it," Kenny said, "It's cute when you blush."

I looked away sharply without meaning to and quickly moved my head back into position. Kenny at least had the shame to look embarrassed.

"Just kind of thinking out loud," He said.

"Sure," I replied.

"It is true, though," He said.

...How was I supposed to respond to that? Don't say weird things, Kenny.

"An artist..." Kenny says, not looking up as he draws, "Can connect to the object, but should also be able to see its aesthetic qualities for himself, without bias. A writer should be able to write a character just how they are, not to promote some idea or make some argument. It's the same with drawing.

"You get it?" He said.

No.

I nodded.

Kenny smiled.

I guess what he meant was that I made aesthetic art and therefore the fact that we were friends was irrelevant.

"Okay, I've got it. You can get back to your drawing," Kenny said.

I went back to drawing silently. But now I couldn't focus. Kenny being so still – somehow it made it worse! He only moved his hand and stared at me, looking down at his paper, then up again. I was staring at him too, to draw him, so I kept meeting his eyes by accident.

"It's a little lopsided," He said.

"Huh?" I asked.

"My eye," He said.

"What?" I asked.

He laughed and pointed it out on my drawing.

"You made my eye super lopsided, man," He said.

I looked down at my paper. He was right. This graphite version of Kenny was a sick abomination. I'd fucked it up all over the place.

"Oh, damn it," I said, going in with the eraser to the eye.

Kenny laughed and suddenly I felt a little less tense. I laughed with him. We were still just friends, after all. And I felt like I knew Kenny a little bit better. At least I understood his feeling on art, just a little bit.

It doesn't mean that Kenny's into me. I mean, whenever he's been into someone, you can't get him to stop flirting and he's super obvious about it. I'm not dense. And it would be totally weird if Kenny liked me. So clearly he doesn't! Why would he? We're good friends.

Kenny shows me his progress on the newest drawing before the end of class. My expression looked nervous and my face was towards the viewer, but looking away.

"Looks really good," I say.

...What else am I supposed to say? Kenny seems happy with just that and smiles.

I kind of feel it would be nice if he found something else pretty, though. Just draw your sister, you weirdo!

He nudges me with his elbow as we leave class.

"We're cool?" He asks.

"Of course," I say, pushing him back.

He laughs and then we spend most of the walk to the late bus shoving each other and goofing off.

Of course we're cool.

I mean, obviously. He's not some creepy stalker. It would be kind of terrifying if he was into me and drew all of that.

-Break-

I felt, at least to some degree, that I had agreed to join Debate Club under duress. I wasn't going back there. Who knows, maybe we'd get stuck in a time loop as bad as fourth grade. I can think about college application stuff next round we have to repeat this year.

But Mr. Wright seems to be able to read my mind.

"We're all so looking forward to having in debate club again this afternoon," He says near the end of class, not even cornering me over the pretense of handing back a paper.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't be going. Debate really isn't for me after all," I say.

"Debate isn't for you?" He exclaims, as if shocked, "When you made our club captain and notoriously prideful Eric Cartman admit defeat?"

"It wasn't a fair topic," I replied, "The topic being so personal."

Cartman isn't in this class with me, but Kenny is. He's watching me from where our alphabetized seating has him a few rows back. I can tell, because I hear his pencil sounds. They're different than the students taking notes.

"Ah, I understand. You'd have to prove it wasn't a fluke if you ever came back. That can be difficult, I certainly understand that." Mr. Wright didn't smirk like Cartman, but he was still quickly getting under my skin.

I wondered how much the fat-ass had told him about my short temper. I was convinced they were in this together. And Mr. Wright was how Cartman had gone from simply enraging to so perfectly manipulative. He'd been taught.

I hummed in thought.

"Can you teach me to not get so mad?" I asked, not bothering to lead in or explain my train of thought, "When Cartman tricks me."

It was point blank, so the teacher stopped and considered it.

"Certainly," He said, "Debate is useful for learning self-control. But I admit, if you want to be as good as your friend Cartman, it might take a long time."

Especially since Cartman was improving too. But I was asking for a different skill than making people angry. I'm glad the teacher was honest with me, at least.

I hoped these weren't just Cartman's earlier taunts coming back to haunt me. Maybe debate really could teach me to hone my temper.

If Token hadn't agreed to be my partner last time, I definitely wouldn't have gone.

"Wasn't sure I'd see you here again," He admitted when I approached the group, "But I'm really glad. Too many people don't give debate a chance, just because of assholes like Cartman."

"Cartman could drive a cat out of a open air fish market," I said.

Token clearly hadn't heard that expression and laughed. I'd never been really close to him personally, but I'd known Token growing up. He was a solid guy I could get along with really easily. He forgets he's rich sometimes and acts a bit like an asshole, but he doesn't mean to so its fine.

"You came back!" Called Wendy, walking over.

She looked cheerful. I kind of wonder if she's back with Stan. But I'm going running with him tomorrow, so I don't see much point in questioning her right now, in public.

"As long as I don't have to partner with the fat-ass," I said.

Wendy laughed, "That's me, today."

"You?" I'm surprised.

What does Cartman have against Wendy?

Token nodded at me, "Those two pair up together all the time on partner days. They're probably the best in the class, after all – after me, of course?"

Wendy laughs. It's clearly a joke, but I know Token won his debate last time too and was apparently really good. I wonder how good Wendy is at debate. I wouldn't be surprised if she was talented at it.

"What are partner days, then?" I asked.

"Arguing in groups of four instead of two," Wendy said, "With a partner on your side. They're pretty often, but not as often as solo. Back when Cartman was more competitive, he demanded to be my partner so we could win. Now I think it's just a habit."

"Is he not competitive?" I asked, surprised.

"I just mean less so," Wendy said.

Right. I nodded, but I had a bad feeling about this. That's two potential spaces Cartman could use to fuck with me. If he's pairing with Wendy, he'd have an 'in' since Wendy and I are friends. Surely my luck isn't that terrible though, is it?

"Should the school institute uniforms?" Token read out loud, "I've done this one before."

"Boring!" Says Cartman, putting his hands behind his head, "We should make up our own topic then. I don't want Token to get an advantage. Rich fuck already has plenty of those."

Token crumples the paper in his hand and I feel a sense of Deja Vu.

"Actually, returning to topics can be really interesting," Wendy said, "It's a good way to test your improvement."

"But the topic itself is still boring," Cartman started, "What about-"

"Let's not spent all of our debate time arguing about the topic," I interjected, "It's fine, so let's get started."

Cartman waved his hands through the air, as if acquiescing to some greedy demand.

"Fine. As you wish."

Token and I were somewhat lucky. Cartman and Wendy took the more difficult side of 'should the school introduce uniforms'. Wendy, at least, would prefer the more difficult side of a debate so she can grow.

It's slower paced than my argument with Cartman last time. We almost move in turns, each making a point or expanding on something our partner said. Despite our much easier topic, the evil pair of Cartman and Wendy make solid opponents. Token's good, but I'm still terrible.

"I disagree," I said to Cartman, "Uniforms don't always give a school a better impression. We should take into account the kinds of students our school would be appealing to. Not just from a monetary sense, either. In South Park, people care a lot about their particular look. In just this group, me, Wendy, and you, Cartman, are all wearing the same style of hat as we did when we were children."

Wendy unconsciously touched her lilac beret. It's a good point I just made. I felt fairly satisfied and leaned back in my chair.

"I completely agree," Said Cartman – I hate that, because he says it when he's about to say something rude, "But the student's preferences are all the more reason to institute a uniform. Token, wouldn't you like to see pretty girls like Wendy and Kyle walking down the hall in short plaid skirts?"

Token was startled and opened his eyes wide.

Both Wendy and I were furious and exclaimed at the same time:

"Cartman!"

"Just lightening the mood," He chuckled.

I'm at a loss to decide if that was a good move or not. He's gotten me good and mad, but Wendy, his partner, is mad too. On the other hand, I'm a lot worse at thinking and speaking when I'm angry and Wendy seems to do all right, only suffering a little.

Cartman has made a calculated loss.

"Can we stay on topic, please?" I huffed.

"Don't make jokes like that, Cartman," Wendy said.

It was certainly more offensive to me than Wendy, but I appreciate her outrage on my behalf.

I noticed Token looking a little distressed and having trouble getting back into the debate. Don't think about weird things, Token! He's clearly picturing something weird. That makes me uncomfortable. And that makes me angry. Not with him.

Fucking Cartman.

I strengthened my point.

"I believe strongly in the individuality of the students here – not just for the sake of fashion. You can pick each and every one of us out based on our profile. Everyone has a specific shape to their hat or their hair – I can see a person miles down the street, in the middle of thick crowd and recognize them instantly."

"If they're black, that is," Cartman interjected, but no one paid him much attention.

"We've been going to school here a long time – as students, it's our opinion that matters, not our parents. And South Park High isn't a school people decide to go to. It's the only school we have! Whether or not we have uniforms isn't going to affect people attending. So all that matters is the people here right now. And I far more strongly value my ability to pick people out of a crowd than not having to decide what to wear in the morning – fuck knows I wear the same thing anyway."

I shouldn't have cursed – we're lucky the teacher wasn't watching us at that moment – but I still felt I'd gotten my point across.

"I have to agree with that point," Wendy said, raising her hands in defeat, "Kyle makes a good argument here. We only have a minute left, don't we? "

"Of course," Says Token, still not fully recovered.

"Yes, yes, of course," Says Cartman, "I can see how important it would be for a midget to notice people – no one's ever going to be able to spot him."

I'm seeing red. Why does he always go for the personal attack?

Wendy scolds him, "Cartman!"

"Would you stop that already!" I snap, "All club, you keep going off topic and making 'jokes'. The rest of us are trying to be serious here!"

"I am being serious, Kahl," Said Cartman, "It's a legitimate strategy, so long as no one important catches you."

"We have less than a minute left," I say, "Why can't you give up on dumb shit like that? You're so annoying."

"Kyle," Token warned, "That's... a little off topic, too."

Cartman leaned forward, but I didn't lean back. I had plenty enough of losing that way last time.

"It's only fair," Said Cartman, "Believe it or not, I do approve of the idea of uniforms. You'd have to stop hiding your ginger-ness from all the innocents, who so wrongfully assume you're a normal person. Of course, when you spend half the class shaking like a dog, it starts to spill out anyway."

He quickly raises a hand and flicks a loose lock of curls that had slipped out of my hat without my knowledge.

"Oh, will you fuck off, Cartman!" I snap, slapping his hand.

The bell rings. Debate is over.

Cartman leaned back with the same satisfied smirk.

So apparently we won again, but I still felt as if I had lost.

Everyone is again pleased that Cartman so readily admits defeat. And I know everyone is seeing me red-faced and shivering again too.

"So far, a good track record, Broflovski," Said Mr. Wright.

I shook my head.

"We got the easier side of the topic. And if I'm being honest, I'm certain we would have lost had we been debating anyone but Cartman. He wasn't being serious."

"What?" Cartman replied, "You're being far too humble, Kahl. You and Token won that debate fair and square."

"You're setting me up to fail," I snapped at him.

The moment I get paired with someone who cares more about winning than making me angry, I'm done for. Maybe more importantly, I don't have an excuse to avoid Mr. Wright.

There's no debate to witness today. We're instructed to debate in the same groups again, but switch our teams around. I pair with Wendy this time. I think I'd actually prefer to pair with Cartman. That would at least stop him from being able to refute my every point.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Cartman starts, "I must say Kahl, I am very impressed."

"Shut up and read the topic, fat-ass," I replied.

It's been a while since I called him fat. His eye twitched.

"Those are two mutually exclusive orders, but fine, I know what you mean," Cartman said.

He glances down at the paper in his hand, then suddenly rips it up in front of us. Wendy is annoyed.

"Boring!" Cartman said, singsong, "We should make up our own topic!"

"What did it say, Cartman?" Wendy asked.

I know asking that is useless. Cartman can make up whatever he wants. There's nothing to make him be truthful about it.

"Gay marriage," Said Cartman.

Oh, I really don't like that one. Religious or ethical questions are the worst. Someone would have to be the bad side and I'd feel like junk. Cartman knows that. And he'd spend the whole time finding new and inventive ways to call me gay. Cartman made that up, I'm certain.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked, "You've had all club to think about it."

Cartman smiled indulgently at me. My foot started to tap.

"We could do a boring, normal topic," He starts, looking at each of us one by one, "If we did something to spice it up."

"Cartman, we're not allowed to make bets," Wendy said, crossing her arms.

"Like that's ever stopped you before, Windy," Said Cartman, smirking.

Wendy gets a little red. We haven't even started.

"You have to take back what you said about my Dad last week," Said Token, "In front of homeroom."

I wasn't aware of the incident.

"Deal," Said Cartman, "Wait, we're on the same side, Token!"

"Admit to Mr. Wright that you cheated with your phone that one time," Said Wendy.

"Deal," Said Cartman.

"Promise to not try to debate me next week," I said, "Just leave me alone for the whole club. Two clubs in a row."

Cartman hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

"Deal," He said "Kiss me."

The three of us here who heard him are silent.

"What?" I asked flatly.

I can't even follow this line of reasoning enough to get mad. I'm just confused.

"If Token and I win, you have to kiss me," He said.

"Why?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in my chair, stretching away from him.

He has an ulterior motive. Like the time he made the town believe we were gay. He did that twice, actually, now that I think about it. Getting Token together with Nicole and... I don't want to think about that again.

"Why aren't you all debating?" Mr. Wright ambled over to our group, who have been noticeably silent in our stunned state.

"Just finding the first point, Mr. Wright," Said Cartman.

"Well, hurry up and get started," The teacher said, "You won't learn anything sitting there."

"Fine," I snapped.

I'm looking at Cartman.

I'm not scared of you, I tried to make my eyes say.

"Kyle," Token says, showing his palms, as if trying to warn me or calm me down.

I reach out my hand and Cartman reaches out his own to shake, but I'm not reaching for him. He's surprised. I reach out my hand to Token.

Token is also surprised, but then understands, smiles and nods, shaking my hand.

"Three versus one?" Asks Wendy, who also gets the implication.

She might not normally approve of removing this challenge, but she has a chip in this game and we are friends.

"That's cheating!" Cartman cries out.

"You already agreed to a deal with me, didn't you?" Token mocked.

Cartman fumed for a moment, but shrugged. He's completely full of himself if he thinks he can win three-on-one, especially against people like Wendy and Token.

But the debate is still surprisingly intense. Cartman isn't giving up, even three to one. I guess that's because he has three separate bets he stands to lose. Maybe it's just because he's angry.

"In fact, democracy itself would prevent that kind of law from being passed!" Wendy declared.

We debated over the fairness of equal party representation in government vs population based representation. I prefer that topic.

Cartman gets annoyed as the debate goes on. When Mr. Wright came by, Token pretended to be on Cartman's side again for a little while, but he didn't make any good points during it. Cartman is obviously losing. I start feeling a little full of myself. Haughtiness isn't a good look on me.

Cartman's eye started twitching a lot and I couldn't help smiling. Maybe I'm even smirking. I bet I looked just like him, but I'm too proud to care right now. While Wendy makes another solid point, Cartman stares at me, narrow eyes, taking in my pleased expression.

And then Cartman seems to switch gears. He isn't insulting us anymore. He gets directly in all kinds of political points. Brings up precedents – Wendy decided this topic, so how can he have researched? And he's talking fast. Three of us versus one, but it's suddenly hard to get a word in edgewise. We flowed past the timer, not acknowledging any of us had heard it. Mr. Wright comes over to observe.

Cartman grew more and more passionate and deliberate. He stood up from his seat, his height and girth towering over the three of us sitting – and the rest of the class watching our feeble protests.

"Lack of support for the minor colonies is what caused the split off from Great Britain in the first place! Representation isn't only about the majority, the very opposite! I think every American would argue the same. The existence of gerrymandering is simple proof that these ideals don't hold true in the real world! We are no democracy either – we are a democratic republic! True fairness is achieved through a system representing the minority parties with the same distinctions as the majority!"

"That's the spirit, Cartman," Mr. Wright praised, even clapping his hands, "That's exactly the spirit – I'm so glad you've got back your drive. Not a single direct insult. And don't think I didn't notice Black's side switching there. Wanted a greater challenge did you, Cartman? And we have Broflovski here to thank for it, do we?"

"Huh?" I toned.

I was shell-shocked.

"My very favorite student had lost his drive. That – right there – is why Cartman has such a reputation."

Cartman leans back, putting his 'acting' face on again. That almost innocent face and voice he uses around all the teachers.

"Arguing with my childhood friend, the way we used to bicker like kids has finally inspired me again, Mr. Wright," Cartman said to Mr. Wright.

Lying sack of shit. What inspired him was fear of losing and the possibility of torturing somebody.

"Broflovski was a fantastic idea," Mutters Mr. Wright as he prepares to move on.

Now that we're finished making an embarrassing scene, everyone is able to go through their winners. We can't even lie about who won, everyone saw the end of the debate. Cartman is gloating. Wendy and Token gave me sheepish, shameful looks.

Well, it's not to say I haven't borne humiliation at the hands of Cartman before. It's going to be gay jokes for the next five months, maybe longer.

The class started to disperse, except for our group. I'm still shell shocked.

"Well, Kahl?" Cartman stood over me, a dark shadow that obscures the sun.

"Fuck off, Cartman," Said Wendy, leaning forward so she's slightly in front of me, "That kind of bet isn't okay, even if Kyle agreed."

I ignore her.

"Fine," I say, standing up and glowering at him.

He's full of himself!

Token almost puts his hand on his shoulder, as if to pull me away. Everyone does that. And even if I hate Cartman the most, it still irritates me. There's something more than my size that keeps making this happen. Keeps making people want to decide things for me. Wendy and Token here. But Stan was like that. Kenny started this whole thing having me go to Art Club. There's something... something...

But I don't have time to think about it right now. I'm not giving Cartman time to take charge of this situation. Once he started leaning down, I stood on my toes. Quickly – no one besides us four will see – I nudged the side of his face with my lips. Nothing to it. Then it's grab my bag and march out before my face gets even redder.

"What?" Cartman cries out, "Kahl, I didn't say the cheek!"

"You didn't say the lips, either," I reply over my shoulder.

Fuck off.

I've run into this problem before. Down the halls, I take a left and then a second left – directly away from bus pickup, but his long strides catch up to me immediately, so he isn't shaken by my direction – and like he has before, he grabs my arm and stops me short, painfully yanking at my shoulder.

"You knew what I meant. That's cheating," He says.

"Fuck off!" I reply.

Loudly. There's no one left in this hall but us, so I can curse to my heart's content.

"You always try to cheat in bets," Cartman hisses, tightening his fist, "Even back when we were kids. Just kiss me, you pussy! "

"I didn't -" I start to say.

But Cartman has put his lips over mine. He still holds my arm tightly in his, but his other hand has grabbed the side of my head. A sort of panic sets in. I'm not even thinking in terms of anger or disgust. It's an automatic reaction to push myself backwards and push Cartman off of me. But he steps forward again before my instinct can help me anymore. So I step backwards again.

"Cartman!" I say.

Don't. He pushes me back against the wall. He has one hand on either side of my head. I push at his arms, but he's stronger than I am. His mouth is over mine again and he's pressing into me in a way that makes it difficult to keep my mouth closed. I manage.

I kick and hit him with my arms. I'm not a total cripple. There's no way my scrabbling feet don't hurt. But he doesn't move. Then he does.

I gasp for air, because I hadn't been breathing.

"Now we're fair," Cartman says. His tone is indecipherable. Haughty? Irritated?

And he leaves down the hall.

My limbs are shaking, but not the way they do when I'm just angry. Honestly, I feel a little afraid. Just shocked from being cornered, I guess. Things aren't like when we were kids.

"Should I... tell a teacher?" A voice asks.

I look up. I'd been under the impression we were alone.

Clyde is standing in a doorway nook, face lit in blue from his phone. He would have been easy to miss.

"What are you doing here, Clyde?" I hiss, heading over to him.

My voice is low. I don't want anyone to know about this. I can't have anyone know about this.

"I missed the first bus, so I have to wait for the late one," He said.

I don't know why, but I'm absolutely fuming with him. When I get defensive, I get angry.

"Look man, I saw Cartman-" He started to say.

"You didn't see anything!" I reply, getting up close to him.

"Whoa, don't go getting pissed at me," He said, "That was kind of fucked up. I thought Cartman had been more chill the last four years. You should tell... Mr. Mackey or someone. I'll witness."

I'm shaking again.

"No one is going to know! You want me to be humiliated in front of everyone? If you tell anyone about that," I say, voice getting lower and lower, "I will personally ruin you, Clyde!"

"Geez, dude!" Says Clyde, his hands up, "Okay!"

I nod sharply and turn away, hurrying for the late bus. The whole ride, I can see Cartman in front of me, staring out the window. He keeps smiling and then frowning and fidgeting with his gloves.

I can feel Clyde's eyes on the back of my head. I turn around and give him the stink eye. He puts his hands up in surrender and I nod at him again.

I can't stop thinking about what happened. What the fuck is wrong with Cartman? Are we just supposed to go back to normal?

He's done more terrible things to me. Loads of times. But things are different now because we aren't little kids anymore.

I mean, I guess I understand it. Cartman obviously hates me. He did that to embarrass me and... freak me out. Well, he succeeded, didn't he? I wish I could wash out my mouth. I have to wait for a full bus ride.

Should I tell Stan? All he'd do is beat the crap out of Cartman and get in trouble.

It's gross. I'm gross right now.

And he'd probably end up telling the whole school. The last thing I want is for anyone to think Cartman actually likes me. He obviously hates my guts. The thought of someone like Cartman being into me is legitimately terrifying.

-Break-

I make a point of ignoring Cartman at every turn the next two days. I even spend lunch in the library. The guys know something is up, but I'm not budging. I'm not planning to do this forever. I just can't deal with his stupid face yet. He keeps making jokes at my expense, trying to get a rise out of me. And just looking weird. I can't stand this horrible pit in my stomach, making me so uncomfortable. It's my recklessness that let this happen. So I feel, anyway.

I'm actually looking forward to running Saturday morning. Pity it had to sleet.

The weather is miserable. Heavy sheets of sleet slide down off the roof passed my window. I sit at my desk and watch it. But then a figure in a raincoat walked up the drive.

I smiled. Stan would know I'd still be feeling moody. I get up to greet him as he comes inside.

"Hey, Ike," I heard him call.

"Kyle's upstairs," Is all Ike says in greeting.

My little brother can be kind of rude sometimes. But Stan doesn't mind. He's difficult to piss off. The opposite of me, but that just makes us better friends.

"Hey," I said as I got downstairs, "Here to play video games?"

Stan shook his head as he worked off his boots.

"There's lots of exercise we can do inside," He said, "It's no big deal."

"Ooh, exercise," Calls Ike from the kitchen, where he's working on homework.

"Shut up, Ike," I called back, smiling.

Stan followed me upstairs to my room, as usual.

"What did Cartman do?" He asked as we walked.

He's direct, but that's fine.

"Don't worry about it," I said, "I'm over it."

I kind of am. I don't know why, I'm just feeling cheerful right now. Stan shrugs.

We both took off our jackets and threw them over the back of my computer chair.

"So, sit-ups and stuff, like in PE?" I asked.

Stan nodded, "We'll stretch first, but yeah."

It's not the most fun activity, but being stronger would be good for me. My mind flashed back to when I couldn't push Cartman off of me and how scary that was. I shake the thought out of my head. I'm going to keep this good mood, so fuck off, Cartman!

Stan teaches me some stretches and we go through them together. Then sit-ups, which are fine if they hurt a little. Push-ups... I can't really do push-ups.

"Keep your arms against your body," Stan says, "Your elbows are sticking out."

I try that.

"It's way harder," I whined.

"You were doing it wrong," He said, "It's not a workout if you do it that way. And you can screw up your shoulders like that too."

So I've been doing push-ups wrong my whole life. I can't even do fake push-ups. That's great.

We take a break and have some water.

"Why do you like this so much?" I asked him.

Stan shrugged.

"It's so boring," I said, swirling my water in my cup.

"It's not always boring," Stan said, "Football's really fun, and wrestling. You just have to do this part so the fun part is more fun."

I'm not convinced. It must show on my face, because Stan laughed at me. I pouted for a moment, but can't help laughing with him.

"Want to try wrestling?" He asked.

I'm not sure. Stan takes my silence as a maybe.

"It is really fun!" He says, "Here, help me lay out something soft."

Sure, sure. We take the fluffy comforter from my bed and lay it down on the floor.

"It's not as thick as a weight pad, but it should be fine," Stan said.

"Okay," I replied.

I don't know the first thing about wrestling. Even when I watch Stan's meets, it just looks like a bunch of grunting and moving.

"Don't worry about holds and stuff yet," Stan said, "We'll use kid rules. You just have to hold the other person on the mat for three seconds."

"I'm only going to lose!" I protested, "You're like, five times my size!"

Stan laughed.

"I know, I know," He said, "So I'll have one hand behind my back, like this."

It looks uncomfortable to hold his arm behind him like that, but it makes a good handicap. Taking out his balance could be just as useful as shorting him an arm. I still really doubted that would enough for the person I'd become in high school to actually beat the school sports star at his second favorite game. My expression was amused rather than annoyed and Stan smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Do you have to be so competitive?" He asked.

Me? Competitive? Stan's the competitive one, he's the one who plays sports!

"If I can get you on the ground at all, say I won," I tell him.

"Sure," He said.

I plan to make him regret that. It's necessary to use roguery to win here. We stand apart from each other and Stan counts to three. The moment the game starts, I jump back and head for the door.

"What?" Stan cries, "Where are you going?"

"You said there was only one rule!" I laughed back at him.

"Staying on the mat is kind of implied!" Stan replied.

While he was still flabbergasted at my not-cheating, I took the chance to run, taking the stairs three at a time. With one hand behind his back, he'll be a little slower too. All I needed to do is get Stan on the ground. I took a sharp right downstairs and hide right around the corner in the kitchen. I held my breath and tried to still myself.

Ike raised his eyebrows at me.

"What are you...?" He starts to ask.

I put a finger over my mouth and shook my head.

I could hear Stan hurrying down stairs. He briefly pauses in the living room, but when he doesn't spot me, starts walking towards the kitchen. Thankfully, today Ike apparently considers himself above ratting me out.

"Ike," Stan starts to say as he steps in, "Did Kyle just run past-"

I've stuck my foot out to trip him. I caught his leg, but he doesn't go completely down. There's no way I'd be able to outrun him or try this again. I needed to press my advantage! Before Stan could recover, I shoved him with all my might.

"Are you guys having a fight?" Ike asked.

I was too elated to really respond to him.

"I won!" I declared.

"You cheated!" Responds Stan.

"Nope!" I responded, "There was only one rule and I-"

But Stan interrupted my gloating by taking my hat and ruffling up my hair. It's rough housing, like we used to do when we were kids. We were on a lot more equal footing back then, physically. I wonder if it's good our group diversified like we did. I feel like I have a lot I could learn from all of my friends. Everyone I'm close to has a talent I really lack.

"We're going to do that again properly," Stan says, "So I can show you what wrestling actually is."

I gave a wave to Ike, then Stan and I headed back upstairs.

"You're such a shithead, man," Stan complained.

His tone is good-natured, though.

Back in my room, Stan adds a new rule. No leaving the mat – that is, my bedspread on the floor here. I can't win like this. I'm well aware of that. But I think it's only fair to lose after pulling... not-cheating like that, so I agree.

With his arm behind his back again, Stan faces me down and counts. I hope he isn't actually annoyed. He does look a little bit peeved.

On three, he jumped at me, reaching with his free right arm. I make my own jump in response, over towards the left. We circle each other in this way for a just a moment, but there isn't a lot of mat for me to escape on. Stan grabs my shoulder, but like a snake, I shrug out of my jacket.

"It's more fun than I thought!" I joked at him.

"You do nothing but cheat!" Stan protested, tossing the jacket aside.

I really can't help it. It's fun teasing my friend like this. Staying on his left is the only way to make this last longer, but Stan is definitely a little annoyed with me, even if we are having fun. I can tell, because he gets serious. In only a moment, he's grabbed my shoulder again and pushed me on to the ground, falling with me to his knees. I twisted on instinct and broke his grip. Still, that didn't even last long enough for me to get up again. With his right hand, Stan pushed my shoulder down against the comforter and leaned over me, smiling almost proudly.

I grabbed his arm and tried to push him away, but he wasn't going anywhere. I didn't want to give up yet, though. I kicked at his knee with my feet and gained enough leverage to sit up slightly. He lifted the knee and set it down over my thighs, pushing the rest of my body down. No struggling would get him off.

There was no choice but to admit defeat, so I stopped and stared up at him, waiting for Stan to gloat over his victory like I had earlier. But the look on Stan's face was strange. He looked unhappy, almost like he was in pain. He stared right into my eyes, frowning. It made me nervous.

"Hey," I said, "Are you okay?"

The moment was really odd and tense. He didn't say anything. Didn't move a muscle. I wasn't really sure what to do or say.

"Three," He said.

Then he let go of me and sat back, leaning against the bed.

...It was definitely longer than three seconds, though. I sat up and looked at him. He was smiling now, but it didn't really reach his eyes. My shirt sleeve was really damp with sweat where his palm had gripped my shoulder. Our faces are both red from exercise.

It's not like he didn't hear me ask if he was okay. I don't feel like I should ask him again. Stan looks away from me – I guess I was staring – and scratches his face.

"We should do our homework, I think," He says.

I hesitate for half a second.

"Sure."

It's awkward until Stan goes home. I can't really bring myself to ask again if he's all right. But this reaction is similar to the one Stan had when he lent me his jacket, before. His face looked just like that.

The thoughts that ran through my head really needed to shut up. But I can't stop thinking that Stan was blushing. He seemed too red. And this is kind of like what happened with Cartman – I can't stop thinking that either. With Stan, it's different. I'm sure if he'd freaked me out and realized, he'd be up and off of me in seconds.

That weird face, though. Oh, it's stupid – we always used to rough house and nothing has truly changed. I can't face thoughts like my most trusted, best friend being... into me. That would be terrifying, terrifying, more than anything else!


	3. Ch 3: Muddying Waters

Another ordinary morning in South Park. The snow crunched under my feet as I approached my little group waiting at the bus stop. We're so inclined to our particular places, no one even needs step aside for me to stand in my spot. They always leave my empty space for me or whoever arrives last in the morning. Nothing has changed, even if all three have done something strange lately.

Stan nods a greeting, but apart from that, no one pauses in their conversation. And I don't really need to be brought up to speed.

Cartman continued the conversation they'd all been having, gesturing to me with everyone else.

"This one's really good you guys, seriously, just listen... so the father gets out a deck of playing cards..."

"We've already heard the punchline, man," Kenny said.

"Yeah," Said Stan, "No one wants to hear another fuckin' aristocrats joke."

"It's a _running joke_ , you guys, you build on it and make it worse," Cartman protested, "That's _why_ it's funny."

"Gross out isn't enough _by itself_ ," I said, crossing my arms in the cold, "Get some _new_ political humor or get out."

"Building humor on humor works too," Cartman said, "You know, it's meta?"

Every conversation I have with Cartman is an argument.

"I like character humor better anyway," Stan said.

Bit of column A, bit of column B.

The bus arrived shortly after that.

"Done ignoring me now?" Cartman asked, stepping on after me.

"As much as I ever can be," I replied.

"Always come back," Cartman said smugly.

"I meant you're hard to ignore," I told him.

"Exactly," He said.

I could hear his smirk in his voice. God, he was annoying.

I sat next to Stan on the bus, as always, Cartman and Kenny in the seat across the isle. The interest I felt from the new year had worn off. I leaned against the window and watched the town go by.

"You ever gonna tell me what he did?" Stan asked.

"I'd rather not," I replied.

"Just Cartman being Cartman?" Stan asked.

Well, I guess so. I nodded. Stan doesn't get angry easily. Just when I'm involved, it seems. I'd rather not have him starting up a fight again that I've almost forgotten about.

In fact, forgetting about Cartman's jackass-ery seems like the best policy in general.

But, given the hand that gently touched my arm as I walk towards the school belongs to Clyde, I might not be so lucky.

I turned and glared at him. He grimaced.

I didn't hate Clyde. He was fine. He sat at the same long table as my group, just a little farther down. We didn't talk much lately, I guess. He was still a coward, though, whom I could intimidate with angry stares.

"See you later, Stan," I said to him.

Stan shrugged and headed on without me. Kenny and Cartman were already having some kind of lewd conversation on their way in.

"What do you want, Clyde?" I asked.

We walked together over to the edge of the yard while we spoke.

"Are you like... okay?" He asked.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I'm a good person, Kyle," Clyde hissed, "If someone is being taken advantage of, I need to say something. If you don't talk to Mr. Mackey, I will."

I was astounded. Anywhere else, maybe, but people didn't pay much attention to that stuff in South Park. And what exactly was our incompetent school counselor going to do? Give Cartman a detention?

" _Mr. Mackey_ ," I said, eyebrows high, "Fuck off. Do you run to a teacher every time you see someone get punched in the hall?"

Clyde frowned. Obviously not.

"That's pretty different," He said.

"I saw Butters get a swirly last week," I said.

"Were you the only one?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.

Clyde either didn't buy it or didn't care. He was up on some high horse and wanted to feel good about himself. My bad luck he decided I was good hero practice.

I seethed for a moment, giving him another good glare. While he did fidget, maybe he was less of a coward then he'd been as a kid. He wasn't laying off.

"I'm not sure you noticed," I said, "But I've already taken care of it. Cartman and I are back to status quo. You know him, he just does stupid stuff like that."

"So you think he'll do it again?" Clyde asked.

Why did he take that out of what I said?

"No - I mean it was just the same old Cartman stuff he's always done," I said, "So I don't care. I'm over it."

Clyde closed his eyes. He seemed annoyed.

"You only think of the way things used to be," He said, "When's the last time someone launched a missile at us?"

I didn't get it. My face clearly showed that. Clyde sighed.

"Things are different now," He said, "We aren't kids anymore and that kinda crap isn't okay. You're treating it like no big deal when it is. You've hardly even grown, one way or the other."

My face starts turning red in anger. Who does Clyde think he is? We're not even that close. I don't think I've ever hung out with him one on one, only in the boys' group.

"Short jokes are a great way to get on my good side," I said with the sarcasm that comment deserved, "Being _not_ a kid anymore is exactly what gives me the right to decide what to do about shit in _my own life_."

"Listen. Everyone knows you're naive and oblivious," Clyde said, "I mean that - I'm not sure you're aware of your reputation, but that's what everyone thinks of you."

"That," I said, "Is gaslighting."

"You're like a little kid sometimes," He went on, "So I feel like I'd be a bad person if I didn't do _something_ about that thing with Cartman before it's too late."

" _Everyone,_ " I said, "Thinks they know what I should be doing. I'm too stressed, I need to prepare for college, I need to work out. I need new friends now too? Cause I'm just too stupid to deal with Cartman myself?"

I'm seeing red and getting carried away. I recognize it, but can't stop myself. Just a few insults and I can't keep my mouth shut.

"You're not stupid," Clyde says, "Just completely oblivious."

"Of what?" I exclaimed, "What the fuck do you think I'm oblivious of?"

"Stan's been in love with you since sixth grade," Clyde said, "For a start."

"We're best friends!" I said, "Why the fuck would we hide something like that if we were gay? No one messes with Tweek and Craig."

"I didn't say you guys were gay," Clyde said, "God, you're really dense."

The warning bell for class rung. We had five minutes to get our stuff and get to homeroom.

"Kenny draws creepy pictures of you," Clyde said, "Do you know that?"

"He isn't creepy," I said, "He draws pictures of everyone."

Though, mostly me.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Kenny turns into a stalker and Cartman - gets worse," Clyde said.

What, if he molests me? If Cartman rapes me? Is what he was going to say. Fuck off, Clyde.

"My friends aren't like that," I said, voice low.

"Did you forget him pinning you against the wall and holding you there?" He asked.

I'm pretty annoyed.

" _Such_ a good person, Clyde," I spat, "Watched the whole thing."

I turned on my heel. If we didn't go right now, my new year's attendance record would already be shot. Clyde hurries along after me. His face is red now, too - I might have hit a nerve. Maybe that wasn't really fair of me. I wouldn't actually expect Clyde to intervene.

We burst into class and sit down just in time. Stan raises his eyebrows at me. He can tell something's made me angry by my expression. I hardly doubt that's unique to Stan, though. I'm an open book with that stuff.

I quietly keep my eye on Clyde through class. He's frowning and fidgeting. I think I might have really bothered him and I feel like of bad about it. But can't he understand I don't want to think about Cartman?

Ugh, and apparently everyone still thinks Stan and I are gay. I was pretty sure that rumor died years ago. Class goes on and I go on thinking. By the time it's over, I've cooled off considerably. Enough to feel guilty and realize I might be in the wrong here. When the bell rung, I approached Clyde while he packed his bag.

"I'm sorry, man," I said, "I shouldn't have really gotten so angry."

Clyde shook his head.

"'ss fine," He said, head in his hand and looking away from me, "I've been hating myself because I didn't do anything. That's why I'm on your ass about it, I guess."

"Don't," I said, "It was seconds - not like you had time to think."

He looked up at me, expression almost in pain, "It was a minute or two. And I thought to myself, 'do something' and didn't. And I don't know why."

I don't really know what to say. Well, it's no one's job to stop bullying. What, get beat up himself?

"Don't worry about it..."

"Well, I am!" Clyde says, suddenly loud again, slamming his palm onto his desk "And I'm gonna keep worrying about it until I do something!"

I'm a little startled and step back. Clyde packs his stuff quickly and hurries off. Kenny walks over to me while I get to gathering my own things back at my desk.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"I don't know," I said, "Clyde's decided he wants to make Cartman stop being such an ass, I guess. And I don't really wanna help."

Kenny chuckled, "We've gone down that road before."

I laughed a little with him. There's no making Cartman a better person.

While we walk, Kenny chats to me about Art Club. The piece he's been working on to show Mr. Carter is a self-portrait and Kenny hasn't done too many of those before.

I'm looking forward to seeing it. The incident with Clyde slips my mind for the time being and it's another ordinary Monday morning until lunchtime.

I sit in my usual spot - today I'm the first of my group to arrive.

I'm fairly surprised when the next arrival isn't Stan, Cartman, or Kenny. Instead, Craig of all people sits directly across from me. He sits at this table, but... not in that spot. That's where Kenny sits. Next to Cartman.

I'm cautious. Craig's an unusual case. He has a lot of get-up-and-go for someone who gives so few fucks. I mean, he isn't buff or crazy tall or anything. I guess there's just something frightening about teenagers who _really_ don't give a shit.

"Hi," I say, casual.

"Clyde's freaking out," He said.

Direct and to the point. I like that. Hearing Clyde's name again just makes me sigh, though.

"Listen," I said, "I'm sorry about that, but-"

"No," Said Craig, nasal and dry in tone as ever, "You listen. Clyde is one of my friends. We're all friends, but there's layers. You've got your little group of weirdos and I've got mine. This, right here, is a problem. There's Stan's group and there's my group. I don't give a shit about you, Kyle, but Clyde ranks just below Tweek in the scale of people I can be bothered to care about."

"Thanks," I said.

"So here's what's gonna happen," Craig says, "You're gonna tell off Cartman - or you're gonna pretend to - and then you're gonna say to my friend - 'thank you, Clyde, after you talked to me, I actually understood, and I changed my mind, and you're right, that's not okay, you saved me, Clyde, good job, Clyde'. I think you understand?"

"I understand," I said, nodding in sarcastic earnestness, "That's a good plan. Thank you, Craig."

Craig flipped me off and slid down the table to his usual seat.

Kenny arrived shortly. Stan and Cartman soon after.

After he sat down, Kenny resumed talking to me about Art Club. It's an easy topic to fall into since he's so interested in it. I don't have much to say, but I'm able to give pretty simple replies and keep him talking. I think it's good Kenny is passionate about this.

"He's bored," Cartman interjected, smirking down at his food.

Kenny paused for a moment, but then continued. No one's going to ask Cartman 'who's bored?' so he can start whatever monologue he's planning. It is best to ignore Cartman when he's being deliberately inflammatory.

Cartman yawned and stretched, getting into Kenny's personal space. Careful, Cartman, I'm pretty sure Kenny is the only person here who actually likes you.

"Kahl is clearly bored out of his skull, Kinny," Cartman said, "We all are, so maybe stop going on about yourself for at least a few minutes. Your mastery of shading isn't really interesting to the plebs."

If Cartman had said that to me, I'd probably be closing my hands into fists and turning red. As it is, I narrow my eyes on Kenny's behalf.

But Kenny himself only shrugs, so I don't say anything either.

"What do you wanna talk about, fat-ass?" Stan asked.

Don't encourage him, Stan.

"Annie Knitts is having a party this weekend," Cartman said, "Her parents are out of town for a week. There's gonna be _booze_."

I suppose that's something. It's been a while since everyone got stupid. And Annie's usually been slightly more straitlaced than someone like Bebe, for example.

"Is that all?" I asked, "If it's Annie, we're already invited through Stan and you show up anyway regardless."

I understand girl politics. Bebe is Annie's friend and Annie's gonna want Bebe there, but if she invites Bebe, she has to invite Wendy, since Wendy is Bebe's _best_ friend. If Wendy's invited, then Stan's invited, even if they aren't steady right now. If Stan's invited, then I'm invited. If you're inviting two members of our group, you might as well get the rest in too. It's how parties blossom out of control.

"Well, this one's special," Cartman said, "She wants everyone to have a date. It's one of those parties with dancing and everything. She's serious about it."

Hmm. Well, I don't really care. I care about getting my hands on liquor about as much as the next underage high school student and that's not quite enough to be bothered to ask a girl out.

"Prepare yourself, Stan," Kenny teases, "You're going to need to ask Wendy out ASAP or she'll get pissed at you."

Stan blushes and looks away. It's cute how much he likes her, even if they're not always together.

"Well, I don't know..." He says.

"The point is for the rest of us, Kinny," Cartman says, "All three of us are single and that's a problem."

Kenny nods. He's eager for Cartman's solution.

"It's been a drought lately for me," He says.

Cartman pats his back, a sympathetic look on his face. I roll my eyes at them.

"Well, now's our chance," He says, "Red's single right now again. She and Kevin just broke up. He shit himself last week, isn't that crazy?"

I suspect Cartman.

"What?" Kenny is ecstatic, "Awesome!"

"Yeah, it sure is, isn't it?" Cartman says.

I don't know how Kenny doesn't see through him. I don't know just what Cartman is trying to pull right now, but he's definitely pulling something.

Kenny and Red have been together before. Kevin, I thought she might be serious about. The dude seems boring, but solid.

"You'll be asking Heidi, I assume?" I ask, "Or begging, more like."

Cartman shakes his head, "Me and Heidi are done for good. She's too controlling, man."

Sure. Cartman makes my blood boil. Heidi was nice, once. I don't think I'll ever be able to trust her, though. She's too much like Cartman.

"I'm kinda over Wendy, too," Stan says quietly.

"What?" I asked, turning my head to face him directly, "No way. What did you guys fight about?"

Stan seemed sad.

"Nothing, actually," He said, "I'm just not into her anymore. I mean, we're still friends, but..."

"Suuuure," Said Cartman, "You'll be back in her arms by the time the parties over no matter who you go with. We've done this before."

Stan doesn't seem annoyed. He just shakes his head again and gives a half smile. Oh, no. I think something must have happened between them. There's no way Stan could just lose his affection in Wendy. They've been sweethearts since elementary school! And Stan hasn't said a word about this until now. Am I a bad friend? This must be why he's been frowning sometimes lately. I am a bad friend.

"Pretty sure Bebe's still into you, man," Kenny said, trying to make things better.

Bebe isn't going to date her best friend's ex if Wendy's still so close to him. Girl rules and boy rules aren't that different.

"Who cares about some stupid party, anyway," I say, "I'd much rather spend the weekend with running, studying, and video games."

I nudge Stan's shoulder with mine. He nods, it's a yes to hanging out and getting over dumb girlfriends.

"Running?" Cartman asked.

He seems bothered by that. Cartman rarely exercises. Ha, he's probably being insecure about it. A crab in a bucket, but he's the only crab.

"Stan and I go running on the weekend now," I said, a little proud.

I mean, I've only actually exercised with him twice, but I think that counts. Cartman definitely seems annoyed.

"Of course you do," He said, rolling his eyes.

"Cool," Said Kenny, shrugging.

"You honestly want to spend the weekend exercising and studying instead of drinking and hanging out with girls," Cartman said to me, "It's no wonder you're a virgin, Kahl."

I bristle. Well, I can't really rise to his taunt even if I wanted to. I am a virgin. Probably the only one at this table. Loose morals are common in South Park.

"This party could be your chance to get laid," Cartman said, "Every girl buzzing, half of them white girl drunk, almost as many girls as boys. And you'd rather mope at home with your boyfriend."

"Why do you care?" I asked.

I've learned by now Cartman always has an ulterior motive.

"You're my friend, Kahl," Cartman said.

"I am not," I responded.

But Cartman only smirks.

"It's not like you're going either," Stan said, "If Annie's serious about dates. There's not a girl in school anymore who'd go out with you."

Cartman waves his hand, "Oh, that's easy. It's not like we need to get a real date. Stan will ask Wendy - you know he will. 'Just as friends,' and then they'll end up making out hardcore in the corner. Kenny will ask Red. Slut'll put out for anyone, especially some artsy bitch. You and me will pretend date and once we get in, we can go our separate ways."

"Oh, fuck off!" I exclaim, "That's what it is. You know you won't get a girl to go with you, but you still think if you get in that party you can get laid. _Somehow_. Why should I have to go with you?"

"It's _obvious_ , Kahl," Cartman said, noticing my irritation with the word obvious, "Everyone knows you're gay. It's not like they'd believe me if I went with Jimmy."

"Oh, shut up, Cartman," I said.

He already knows he can't convince me of this. It's all to lead the conversation to teasing me.

"It's been _nothing_ but gay jokes recently," I said, "And -"

I remember my conversation with Craig. In fact, he's subtly watching me from down the table instead of having his own conversation with his mates. Yeah, sure, now as good as ever.

"I'm not okay with it," I said quite loudly, "In fact, I really want you to fuck off with that stuff. You've been weird lately in ways I am decidedly not comfortable with. Stop. So there."

I spare a quick glance at Craig. He flips me off. I don't really know what that means, given it's Craig.

" _What_?" Stan asked.

The bell rung, signaling the end of lunch period.

"Exactly that," I said to Stan.

Now I just have to suck up to Clyde a little and my problems will be resolved. I had been feeling guilty about yelling at him, so now I can feel better.

"Your acting is terrible," Craig says to me - out of nowhere, he's right over my shoulder in the hall.

Moves more silently than a cat, it's creepy.

"Good enough for government work, good enough for me," I said.

"And Clyde heard you too, so good enough for me," Craig said, "But what exactly did Cartman do anyway? Cause now I'm curious."

He didn't know? I would have thought Clyde would have blabbed to him. If he's keeping it vague, I guess he's more trustworthy than I thought.

"Ask Clyde," I said.

The school day keeps progressing as normal. Some things are better - I shouldn't have to worry about Clyde or Craig - but apparently something's going on with Stan I need to get to the bottom of. It's Monday, so I don't think I should wait until the weekend. But not tonight either, I have Art Club and I don't really want to give it up. I don't think that makes me completely terrible.

Art Club is good. Relaxing and tranquil. Kenny's self portrait is amazing, too, and I make sure to let him know. He beams at me even more than at the teacher.

"You should start painting again," Mr. Carter tells Kenny, "When you have the spare time."

Painting, Kenny explains to me, is more time-consuming for him and impossible to do during class, like he can with drawing. So he doesn't paint often. But I'd like to see him paint sometime and let him know.

Kenny is thoughtful for a moment.

"Want to hang out for a while?" He asked, "I could show you."

"Your house?" I ask back.

"Yeah," He says.

Sure. So I text Mom and walk past my house and onward to Kenny's. It's not too far. We do get off on the same stop, after all. It's really been a long time since I was over at Kenny's. It's not fair to him, but I have to admit it's not as nice to hang out here. It's dirty and everything is broken. His parents fighting makes me uncomfortable. But his jerk older brother has moved out now, so that's something.

Kenny's sister is drawing in their shared room herself. She has a pack of colored pencils. I wonder if art runs in the family or if she just wants to be like her brother. Given how much Karen idolizes Kenny, it's probably the second.

"Hey, Karen," I greet while we take our shoes off at the closet.

"Kyle!" She cries out cheerfully.

She jumps up from the floor and runs over to us, hugging me around my middle. I squeeze her shoulders. Gosh, she's short for her age! Good to know not every child in this town is six feet tall.

"I haven't seen you in forever!" She says.

"Yeah, no kidding," I said, "You're so tall now!"

"I'm in middle school now," She says.

She seems a little childish for how old she must be. I don't mind, though. Karen's the least bratty kid I've met.

"Want to watch me paint?" Kenny asked her.

Kenny has me sit down in the center of the room and sits down across from me. His sister takes her drawing and pencils over and sits by his side. She loves him and it's very cute.

He said he'd show me his painting and I'm not sure how he plans to do that while painting me, but it's only Monday, I don't have a lot of homework yet. It's good to hang out just with Kenny from time to time too. It really has been too long.

He doesn't have an easel or canvass or anything, but he has a can full of brushes and a bundle of half-used oil paints.

"You just jump into painting?" I asked.

Kenny shook his head.

"I've got a half-finished sketch I can start on," He said.

"Are you very good?" I asked.

"Nope!" He laughed, "I'm great at drawing, but still _shit_ at painting."

I open my mouth, but close it. I don't want to interrogate him.

I really wonder what Kenny wants to do with his life. Does he want to be a artist or does he just enjoy it? Stan and Cartman and I all have some idea. Stan's pretty much guaranteed a scholarship in football. He says he'll decide his major in college. It's the same for Cartman and me. But Kenny won't be going to college.

What's going to happen when we're all split up?

"What are you frowning at?" He asked.

Oh, I didn't mean to frown.

"Nothing," I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well," I said, shrugged.

Karen is here. It feels like it would be awkward to start talking about deep stuff like that.

She's busy drawing something bright purple.

Kenny pauses. He's waiting for me.

"Are you... going to be a painter?" I asked.

Kenny shrugged.

"I don't know," He said, "I'm not really good at it. I like drawing a lot more than painting anyway. I haven't really decided what I want to do. But hey, we've got almost two years."

Right.

"It's fine," Kenny said.

He looked at me meaningfully. I must have still been frowning. I smiled at him.

It's fine. Who knows where the future will go. It's not like I'll never see him again when we graduate. In fact, Kenny might just always be in South Park. But that's not actually a very happey thought. I frown again.

"What's up?" He asked.

Hardly any time has passed. It's difficult to hide your momentary expressions when someone is staring at you.

"Just thinking about graduation," I said.

"You always think too much," Kenny admonished softly.

I wonder if that's true.

It's really peaceful here, despite the mess. Karen's pencils scratch quietly on her paper. She shows it to us when she's done - a very cool purple dragon - and starts on a new one.

"I don't know why Kenny loves drawing people so much," Karen said, "When you could draw cool things instead."

"I still draw dragons from time to time," Kenny said, looking over at her.

"Hardly ever," Karen said, giggling, "You like drawing Kyle."

Everyone knows about that, then. I sigh and smile. Maybe I am slow on the uptake.

I'm not sure how much time passes. At some point, we take a break and Kenny gets us pop tarts from the kitchen. I don't think his parents can be relied on to make dinner. Being at Kenny's is kind of depressing, even if I like spending time with him.

He finishes the painting. Or at least, the base of it. He says he might add more detail later.

It's good, I think. Not as attractive as his bare drawings, but good and his talent from drawing is reflected here too. Kenny's too harsh on himself. He should know that.

"It's really good," I said.

"I can show it to Mr. Carter, then," He said.

Kenny paused for a moment, then looked at me.

"I don't know what I want to do," He said, "Art isn't an easy field to find work in and I... can't really rely on anyone else. But I think I do want to be serious about it."

I smile at him, "So you should paint more often instead of just drawing in class."

He smiled back.

It was a fine way to spend an evening. He tears the page off of his notebook - it's not the right kind of paper for paint, it's kind of wrinkled. He puts it in a drawer. There's a painting of me in there - no surprise - with a strange, unhappy expression.

I think about it while I walk home. When could I have possibly looked that lonely?

The next day, I planned to talk to Stan before class, but Craig forcefully bumped my shoulder with his and started shoving me down the hallway. I really can't catch a break.

"I thought we were cool," I whined.

"We were cool," He hissed, "When you'd just upset Clyde. Now, my boyfriend is upset. And that makes me upset, Kyle."

"What did I do?" I asked.

"Well, he had to know what you'd gotten all weird about with Cartman. The whole table heard and your weirdo acting isn't exactly subtle. By the way, I was wrong, Clyde wasn't convinced - now he's pissed at me."

Craig is very angry. I feel like I've made a terrible mistake.

"They think I bullied you into that," He said.

"You... kind of did," I replied, raising an eyebrow.

He scowls at me. I grimace. Oh, that's what it feels like to be on the receiving end. I'm sorry, Clyde.

"Point is," Craig said, "After everything, I think whatever actually happened has become hugely exaggerated. You are part of our peripheral friend group, so I guess we have some responsibility here. Or at least," He sighed, "Tweek feels that way."

He scowls at me again. I wonder if he's in the doghouse. That would explain why he's so mad at me.

I don't want to be late for class.

"So..." I said, "How are we going to resolve this?"

"We're going to get you to stop being such an idiot and understand your three best friends are total creeps. Like a retard's the birds and the bees."

"I do get that," I say, "Not total creeps, but... weirdos."

"No," Craig said, getting up in my face, "This is clearly something you're not going to get without outside intervention."

"Okay, okay," I say, holding up my hands, "Lunchtime?"

"After school," He says.

He doesn't really tell me where to meet, but sure. That's fine.

It's definitely unusual for me to be almost late two days in a row, but at least I'm not actually late.

Stan is obviously concerned. I smile and shrug at him. No, Craig was not bullying me in the hallway just now. Not _really_ , anyway. Just being good old somewhat abrasive Craig.

Tweek is staring at me. Something over the top is going through his head. Tweek is less potent than he was when we were kids, but he still is most certainly the kind of person to grab hold of an idea and blow it out of proportion. I don't have any doubt that whatever has Craig's little gang so upset is centered around him.

I like Tweek - a whole lot actually, he's nice. I think being around him all the time might be a little tiring, though. Not as bad as Cartman, but a little tiring.

"Why are you hanging out with Craig's group so much lately?" Stan asked me in the hallway.

"'Lately' being the last two days – in the morning?" I tease him.

He doesn't fire back, just waits for a response.

I shake my head.

"It's nothing. Tweek is worked up about something and they want me to help."

Stan seems satisfied with this.

The day goes normally. At lunchtime, Annie comes over to our table, posse in tow, and invites us to her special party. Well, invites Stan, mostly, but we're given a courtesy notice.

After school, Craig practically frogmarched me to the student parking lot. His little group is standing around Token's car.

"Am I being detained?" I teased.

No one smiles.

"Clyde told us Cartman's been harassing you, Kyle!" Tweek squeaks.

"He's done that since we were kids, Tweek," I say, "It's no big deal."

I forget, that's always the wrong thing to say to Tweek.

"It is a big deal!" Tweek exclaimed, jumping and flailing.

"I was there with you in Debate Club," Token said, "He's definitely different lately."

"Do I really need an intervention on this?" I asked.

All five of them - Craig, Tweek, Clyde, Jimmy, and Token - responded in the affirmative.

"Oh my god," I said, covering my face and rubbing my eyes.

"You're about as v-v-v- _virgin_ as it gets, Kyle," Jimmy said.

"Naive, oblivious," Clyde said.

"Can we get to the point?" I asked.

"All three of them are taking advantage of you," Token said, "It's 'taking advantage' of you because you don't get why."

I cross my arms.

"Stan br-br-br-breaks up with Wendy all the time because he's afraid to be gay," Jimmy said.

"You think my best friend is gay for me?" I asked.

My tone was flat, because I was in disbelief.

"It's obvious," Said Craig.

I'm starting to really hate the word obvious. Token cringes a bit, knowing why.

"And going off what you said earlier - Kenny too?" I asked.

"His notebook is full of sketches of you," Tweek said, wringing his hands, "He's gonna start selling revenge porn!"

"The pictures Kenny draws of me are hardly porn," I said.

"You've only seen his school notebook," Craig said pointedly, "Haven't you?"

"K-kenny draws some pr-pr-pretty good stuff," Jimmy said.

I remember this. It was quite a while ago - some looping years, I'm sure. Kenny used to draw porn and sell it. The teachers found out and he got in huge trouble. It was an especially big deal because he was drawing some of the girls in our class. A consent issue and a legal issue. But I know he doesn't do that anymore.

"He wouldn't draw something creepy like that," I protested, "He just draws faces."

"Like I said," Craig said, "Look in his other notebook. We all know he still draws lewds and I'd bet fifty bucks he draws a whole lot of you."

Gross. Don't make me think gross things, Craig.

"But the bigger deal is still Cartman," Clyde said, "Him holding you against the wall and kissing you."

"Don't - talk about that," I said, looking away.

It's too embarrassing with everyone watching.

"It's not a secret anymore, dude," Craig said, listless.

"It's why he wants you at the party!" Tweek spouted, "He's going to get you drunk and molest you! You're so tiny it's only gonna take two drinks! Or he might drug you! And he'll take you out behind the shed and do horrible things!"

Don't make fun of me for being small, Tweek. You're hardly that much taller.

"If Cartman got me drunk, I think he'd probably draw on my face and take embarrassing pictures," I said, "And I'm not going to get drunk. I won't even be at that party, so don't worry about it."

"He kissed you to embarrass you, right?" Craig said, "So... he totally wouldn't do other awful things to embarrass you, right? Because Cartman totally has standards, he's got boundaries he won't cross?"

I can't think of anything to say. That's a really good point and I hate it.

"But I won't be alone with him again," I said quietly after a moment, "I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to," Said Clyde, frowning and knitting his eyebrows. He looks away from me.

"Please tell me you aren't still feeling guilty about that," I said.

Clyde shrugs. Great. That means I have to feel guilty too, Clyde, you asshole.

How do rumors like these start, anyway?

"Well?" I ask, moving on, "What's so bad about Stan? You said they're all taking advantage of me, didn't you?"

"He really is in love with you," Token said.

"I don't really get why you think that," I said, "We're just best friends. I trust Stan, more than anyone. He'd tell me if he liked me and we'd talk it out and get over it."

"The fact that you trust him 'more than anyone' is what makes it 'taking advantage of you'." Craig said.

I don't really get it. According to them, Kenny draws porn or me, Cartman's willing to do terrible things. But apparently if Stan just liked me, that would be 'taking advantage of me'?

"It's about the trust," Said Jimmy, "Wouldn't be so bad if you didn't act like a puppy about him."

"Liking someone who trusts you not to - and they don't say anything - something about that is really cruel." Tweek said.

I'm silent for a moment, thinking.

"Isn't that how you guys got together?" I asked, "You and Craig. You said your relationship was fake for a long time and then you felt something. Isn't that right?"

"That's right," Said Craig, "Great memory, class leader.

I don't get it. I don't get any of it, actually.

"Why do even care?" I suddenly exlaimed, "Why does anyone care? Why is everyone - on my back - all the time now! Everyone wants me to change! Why does everything have to change?"

It only hits me when I say it out loud. It hits me like an arrow in the chest or maybe a mace. I did this. Always, always thinking to myself what's changed about everyone. So-and-so is taller than in fourth grade... so-and-so is still this or that...

If the theory I had about time is true, I did this. Because I can't stop thinking about how nothing changes.

Was childhood all that bad? I can't go back. I want us to be ignorant about sex again. I wish we all still played superheroes together. I miss when Ike wasn't taller than me. I miss when everyone wasn't taller than me.

Clyde was right. I haven't changed, one way or the other.

I miss when we were kids.

"I get it," I say quietly.

I startled everyone with my outburst. No one speaks, just looks at me.

"I don't agree with everything, but maybe I am naive. I'll look into it. Figure something out. Thanks, I guess."

"No problem," Says Token, "Everyone needs an intervention from time to time.

"Coffee?" Someone says.

There's a round of 'sure' one of which is mine. We all load into Token's car - lucky sod - and head for Tweek's parent's shop.

I haven't hung out with this crew for a while. We were all such good friends when we were kids. I guess that's why they still care about me. Now at lunch time we split into two groups. Me, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman. Craig, Tweek, Token, Clyde, and Jimmy.

"Sorry," I say to the quiet van.

"Don't worry about it," Jimmy says.

"Just don't get yourself raped or I'll have a heart attack," Tweek said.

That's not funny - like, _at all_ \- but I guess we're pretty nasty people, because we laugh. It's light-hearted again and we chat about what we've been up to. Clyde's super into Bebe, but he can't work up the courage to ask her to Annie's party. Token says he's sick of always getting stuck with Nicole just because she's the only other black student. We're all pretty sure that's not why they're together, but sure, say so. Jimmy says he's lucky, because he keeps getting set up with Lisa Berger. And that's a good, mean-spirited laugh.

I'm an asshole. All my friends are assholes. I kind of missed this. We drink coffee and eat pastries.

Am I _really_ that naive? That absolutely _everyone_ thinks so?

Token drives everyone home. Craig is apparently staying over with Tweek - they're so blatant. I'm last in the car with him. It's quiet, so I talk.

"You guys do that a lot?" I asked.

Coffee, I mean, and he gets that.

"Pretty often," He said.

I nodded.

I'd like my group to do that. It's been one-on-one lately. And I thought that was nice, but maybe both would be better.

"Come with us next time," Token said.

Well, that would be nice, too. I smile and feel content.

I don't know why they don't hate me.

"Oh!" Token exclaims, twisting around in his seat to look at me, "Would you ask out Nicole? I'm certain she's still into you!"

Token wants to get off the hook for dating Nicole. And sure, she's really cute. Deal, I'll ask out your ex for you, Token. Now I've probably got a date to the party, too. Not a bad afternoon.

Despite that, I have trouble sleeping. I need to do some thinking. I think myself in circles all night, thinking from one friend to the next and all the things I've lost with childhood.

Wednesday morning, I've decided to pay more attention.

We bullshit waiting for the bus. We bullshit on the bus. We bullshit before class. Nothing seems weird. But I guess I have a low bar for weirdness.

At lunch, I sit in my usual spot. Kenny, who brings his lunch like me, is already at the table. I make sure to look down along it. Token's here too.

I wouldn't usually pay attention to that. I talk to mine and Craig's group to theirs.

"Have you found a date yet?" I ask him, sliding down the bench a little so we can talk.

"Is Heidi single right now?" He asked.

"As far as I know," I said.

"I think I'll ask her," He says, "You ask Nicole yet?"

I shake my head. I haven't gotten a chance to.

Stan arrives with his tray, so I lift my hand at Token and slide back to my spot so Stan can sit where he always does. I guess I don't have to. He could have sat where I usually sit, at the very end. I wonder if there's any way to make the two groups one again.

"You're asking out Nicole?" Kenny asked me.

Stan chokes on his drink. Is he surprised I'm asking someone out? Surprised I'm going to the party? Surprised it's Nicole?

"Yes," I say, without hesitation.

"Isn't she Token's girlfriend?" Stan asks.

"Not anymore," I say, "And Token's cool with me asking her out."

Stan seems perturbed. I am, after all, very obviously asking out a mate's ex, which is strange without permission. Still... Strike 1, Stan.

I watch him as subtly as I can.

Of course Stan isn't into me. I just need to find the proof.

"Red said she'll go with me," Kenny says, "So I might get laid."

I nod. Cartman heads over.

"Do you still draw porn?" I ask Kenny.

Stan spits crumbs from his bagel.

"What?" Kenny asks, "No, dude. Tasteful nudes, I mean, but not porn."

"Yeah, right," Cartman said, "Kinny, I know you still draw porn 'cause you still empty my wallet for it."

Strike 1, Kenny. I narrowed my eyes at him.

He laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, "Some porn, definitely an amount. I don't really wanna talk about it in public, though."

"I thought you quit that shit," Stan said.

"I'm not circulating pictures of our classmates or anything," Kenny said, "I... figured out why that was wrong. But listen, let's talk something else."

"Cartman," I say, "You'd better ask out Heidi fast. Token's going to ask her first if you don't."

"What?" He asks, "Why would I give a shit? I don't need her for booze. Don't tell me you've already given up on our plan, Kahl."

"I'm _planning_ to ask a girl out," I said, ignoring how he called his dumb scheme 'our' plan.

Cartman scoffs.

"Midget ginger Jew like you? Good luck with that," He said.

"Thanks," I said simply and stood up, "Do you guys see Nicole or is she not here yet?"

Cartman sputters.

"You're not actually asking out Nicole - she's Token's, Kahl!"

"They broke up," I replied, scanning the girls' table for Nicole.

"You can't ask someone out just - in public like that," Cartman continues, "And she's still Token's - they belong together, _obviously_."

Racist git.

"Stop saying _obviously_!" I snapped.

And I hate that fucking word!

"Hard not to," He said, "When the solution is _obvious_. You're going to embarrass yourself, she's going to say no, all of the girls will see, none of them will ever date you, you'll _never_ get laid!"

"Go for it, Kyle," Kenny said, "She just came in the West door with Ester."

Back to 0, Kenny, good job. I nod at him and turn towards that entrance.

"Wanna make a bet?" Cartman asked me, standing and getting in my way. When he squares his shoulders, he's too wide to slip past in the aisle.

"What?" I asked, irritated.

"If she does reject you - which she will - you go with me so I can get into that party."

He's staring down at me again, a fat shadow over my vision, blocking my path and my sight. A fat shadow over my life.

"And you'll fuck off for Debate Club. Deal," I say, giving him my hand to shake.

Stan face-palms. Cartman and I shake and he lets me walk around him.

Strike 1, Cartman.

I call out to Nicole before she sits down. She turns around at her name.

"Can we talk for a minute?" I ask.

She shares a look with her friend. Ester smiles and tilts her head, then goes and sits down. Silent communication. It kind of reminds me of the way Stan and I act.

The two of us walk just outside the cafeteria. It's quiet out here. Oh, gosh, now that I'm actually doing this, I'm a little dry-mouthed. I got so caught up in my investigations, I forgot I had an actual girl to ask out here. Still, I've never been all _that_ nervous with girls.

"You know Annie's having that party Saturday," I said.

Nicole tucks a curl behind her ear and smiles at me.

"Yeah?" She asked.

Okay, so far so good.

"Well, I was wondering..." I start.

Spit it out. Why must I fuck everything up. If I have to go to that party with Cartman after all, I think I'll kill myself. Nicole leans a little forward. She's taller than I am (of course) but not by too much.

"I'd love to," She says, only the tiniest bit flushing.

As for me, my face is red from something other than anger for once. I break out in a grin.

"Awesome!" I say, maybe a little too loud, "I'll, uh, meet you there, then?"

"I could borrow my Mom's car," She says, "I'll pick you up. Like, eight?"

"Sweet," I say and nod.

She giggles and heads back inside. The girl is far more confident than I am, but that's good. Nicole is really pretty and as far as know, free of drama.

I remember when Stan was first crushing on Wendy, trying to talk to her. He'd get so nervous he'd puke.

Nicole's already telling her friends. They're all giggling at each other and turn to look at me, pointing, giggling some more. Girl gossip is equivalent to guy talk, we just make different sounds. I walked back to my table. Token nods at me.

"Looks like it went well," Kenny said, grinning at me and giving me his fist to bump.

Cartman scowls and crosses his arms. But I'm not really worried about him.

Stan is weirdly pale. His face is blank and he's staring at his food. I sit down and he doesn't look up.

"Everything cool?" I asked him.

He smiled unconvincingly.

"I'm fine," He started to say, but didn't make it all the way through 'fine'.

That's because he turned and vomited on me. I'd call that Strike 2.

"Oh, my god!" I exclaimed, jumping backwards and falling over the bench. I land on my butt pretty painfully.

"Aw, rank, dude!" Kenny shouts, leaning away from the table.

"I'm so sorry!" Stan says.

I threw myself back with such violence, I'm now on the floor, with both face and jacket covered in very fresh puke. I go a little pale myself, but I'm not losing my stomach.

"It's fine," I say, "I'm going to go change though."

Cartman is laughing his ass off.

"I'm so sorry," Stan says again, helping me up.

I wipe the worst off my face with my sleeve. Ugh, god. Stan's got vomit on his jacket too, so we head for the locker room together, trying not to get any worse.

"I-I think I had too much to eat," He said.

"It's fine," I said, "Don't worry about it."

He wouldn't exactly do something that embarrassing on purpose. The whole cafeteria stared us down. Lot's of laughing assholes and grossed out girls.

Stan keeps going on, though.

"I guess I'm still kind of upset about Wendy. I like her and she likes me - but - it's dishonest, you know?"

No, I don't know. I shake my head. He doesn't notice. He's babbling.

"I got the feeling a lot that she liked me more than I liked her. It was different when we were kids and... y'know, sex wasn't really a thing. But then, well, it's all different now. And I like her, but... sometimes, it wasn't very good... and then Wendy would feel bad. And I'd feel bad, because she did and she shouldn't feel bad."

"I don't really know what you're talking about," I told him, "You're really not making any sense."

"I'm sorry," Stan said.

I sighed and shook my head, "Like I said, it's fine. Let's just talk after we clean up, okay? You can calm down a little from whatever's going on."

I fetch my gym clothes from my locker, careful not to get them dirty. I have to touch my jacket to take it off. Rank is right, it's horrible. I leave it in the sink to wash after I've cleaned myself off.

Stan does much the same, but ends up taking the longest shower I've ever known. We've only got cold water in the locker room, so I don't think he's having a good time in there. I wonder if he just hopes I'll leave before he has to get out. I wash the worst of the puke off our clothes in the mean time and leave them hanging up over the curtain rods.

By the time Stan's finally done, class has started again. Still, I wait for him. I think I'm allowed a tardy for being puked on.

Stan is still sheepish and pale when he comes out of the shower. I don't know why, but it feels strange to just hang out in your gym clothes instead of doing gym class. I guess we're lucky, too, that this is coach's free period and there's no one here to rush us out. We sit on a bench together for a little while.

"Do you need to go to the nurse's office?" I asked him.

"No," He said, "I'm good now."

It is a relief.

"That's good," I said.

I smiled at him, trying to make my friend feel better. He smiled back, but it didn't really reach his eyes.

"I got your hat too, huh?" He said.

"Yeah," I said, shrugging, "I mean, you did vomit _down_ on me."

"I'm sorry," He said.

I shake my head. He really doesn't get it.

"I said it's fine," I said, "I'm not going to be angry with you for getting sick."

"I know that," He says, "But you hate it when people see your hair."

"Not you," I said.

That made him smile for real. A gentle smile at me, something warm and content. Good. I'm glad I can still do that. It was almost nice to sit in the quiet for a little while. Maybe not worth being puked on, but nice.

"We should get back to class," I said.

He nodded.

"Here," Stan said, "You can borrow mine for today."

I feel him press his hat down on my head. It's stretchy enough to tuck all my loose hair up under.

"Thanks," I laughed.

"No problem," He said, shrugging.

We walk back to the cafeteria together. Our stuff should still be there.

"So, earlier. What's going on with Wendy?" I asked.

"Well..." He said, "It wasn't working out. I think we'll always be friends, but we can't be together like we used to. I'm different now, I think."

Different. Because he changed. That's a little bittersweet.

"We're still best friends, right?"

He stops walking to look at me. I stop and stare up at him. I don't know why I asked that. I didn't think about it at all. It was more like my mouth just moved. Like when you're tired and relaxed laying in the sun and instead of trying to sleep, it just finds you and your eyes close, but you don't mean to close them. It's not something I should ask because there isn't really an answer for that. There's nothing to be said. He's not going to say 'I secretly hate you'. There's no one he's closer to.

But things have been weird. So my body just asked without me.

" _Of course_ ," He said, "Always have been, _always_ will be."

It's so adamant, so heartfelt. And even without my jacket, I feel so warm. There's no way I couldn't believe that. Maybe Craig's gang is right about Kenny and Cartman are predators in some capacity. I'll keep investigating that. But there's no way Stan would hide something like a crush away from me. We're best friends, after all.

He ruffles my hair.

Whatever butterflies linger in my gut are just happiness.

Yet.

My mind strays back to a thought I've had before. If someone like Stan lied to me, it certainly would be terrifying. He's the person I trust most in the world.

((AN: Thank you so much to all the kind reviewers. I wasn't expecting such encouraging feedback. I'm incredibly happy. I really feel more comfortable with my writing now. I'm sorry for being such a mope before, I was convinced no one would like my stories yet since I still have so far to go. Thank you especially to Elle and Daynam10. I'm really happy my cliches aren't too annoying, though in the next story I write, I certainly will still try to be more original and interesting. I hope to learn a lot about writing and earn properly that kindness in your reviews.

Thank you to everyone for reading. I fear this chapter may not be up to the others. I was really eager to write again. I also haven't devoted equal space to each character in this chapter, but the ones more left behind will get more attention next chapter. There should be three or perhaps four chapters left for this story. If any particular shippers are interested, I certainly will include more moments with Kenny and Cartman, but will probably be going with an ending with Stan.

As before, I'm most eager for advice and criticism. If you do chose to review, thank you very much.))


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